


Forget-Me-Not - Arthur Morgan x OC short fics

by TheDivineMissBlue



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Canon X OC - Freeform, F/M, Ficlets, Fix-it fic, Not In Chronological Order, Shorts, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 02:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 24,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17840510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDivineMissBlue/pseuds/TheDivineMissBlue
Summary: Short fics written about Arthur Morgan and my OC, Isabel Ashwood. Many have been prompts from readers/followers on tumblr. Uploading them here for organization purposes and for ease of reading.Be warned, these will not be in chronological order, but I will state in the notes if the fic open at the time follows or is a precursor to another.And, fair warning, there are spoilers for the game.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part One - Where Arthur Meets Isabel For the First Time
> 
> Takes place during Chapter Two game-wise. The gang are at Horseshoe Overlook.

* * *

The ride back to Horseshoe Overlook was a long one. Long, and a little boring after a while. A successful hunt was a successful hunt and the pelts piled on the back of Arthur’s horse were proof of his labors. Still, there were times during he wanted someone to talk to, even if it was just a few words exchanged… And there was never anything wrong with having another gun to keep an eye out for trouble, given there was no shortage of it wherever he went.

New Hanover was O’Driscoll country and they kept a firm grip with camps set up in the wilderness, and assorted attacks that Arthur witnessed – and prevented – on the road. He’d stopped a couple of stages from being robbed, even prevented an attempt to break out one of them. Saved a few lawmen in the process. Lawmen who thanked him for his intervention. They would have thrown him in the prison cage if they knew who he really was… He wasn’t as bad as the Colm’s boys, though. Of that, he was sure.

O’Driscolls were bastards with no scruples, and a world with a few less of the fools was a better one as far as he was concerned.

Travelling alone did have its perks. If he stopped to draw or write in his journal, no one complained at him. He sang to himself, and to his horse, as they made a leisurely pace over the grasslands and while his singing wasn’t the best, he hoped Juno enjoyed it. He could also listen and hear  _everything_ travelling alone. Birdsong, the rustle of rabbits in the tall grass, squirrels chattering in the trees, and the ever-present sound of gunshots.

He considered it a strange time if a day went by without that too familiar sound.

That was what he heard coming over the crest of a small hill. Gunshots, many of them, from different kinds of guns. Then yelling. Men’s voices shouting orders and threats back at each other, and hoof beats. Thundering hoof beats churning up the dry ground at a gallop. There was no need to grab his binoculars, his curiosity piqued. He could clearly see the source of the noise not far off from him.

One horse out front, leading the chase with a rider almost flat to its back trying to avoid the bullets flying at them. In pursuit five more horses with riders, a puff of smoke from guns being fired and each of the five pursuing riders wearing that iconic long, grey O’Driscoll coat with a flash of green.

“Goddamn bastards…” Arthur muttered under his breath, kicking his heels into Juno’s sides to push her to speed. She was galloping in seconds, covering ground at speed and leaving his thoughts of returning home behind him. He grabbed his carbine repeater from where it was holstered on his saddle, aimed and shot. Juno whinnied, and the shot went wide, but it got the attention of the two trailing O’Driscoll’s.

“You’re gonna regret getting’ involved in O’Driscoll business!” One rider yelled, pulling his horse to a slower pace.

“Yeah, yeah…” Arthur shot again. This time the bullet caught the rear rider in the shoulder and he grasped the wound. He followed with a third shot, this one catching him in the back of the head. The body slumped lifeless over the saddle, and the panicked horse veered off wildly away from the other riders.

A bullet rang out, whistling too close past Arthur’s ear. He drew Juno slightly to one side taking aim once again with the repeater. Squeezing the trigger three times in quick succession, another O’Driscoll dropped from his saddle directly under Juno’s hooves. There was a panicked scream from ahead of him, and a pained cry that came from one of the horses. The lead horse, the one the O’Driscoll’s were pursuing was on the floor and Arthur couldn’t tell if it was moving or not. There was movement, though. The rider scrabbling to their feet. Unarmed and wearing, Arthur could now see, clothes almost ripped and torn to pieces.

 _“Get down, y’goddamn idiot!”_  Yelled Arthur, hoping his voice might carry over the wind and the adrenaline. He saw one of the O’Driscoll men leap from his horse right down onto the original rider, crushing them down to the ground.

The screaming Arthur heard then was undeniably female and he could see her fighting with her attacker as he pinned her down.

The two other riders turned to him, aiming up with their own guns – a pistol and a long-range rifle. Several more bullets flew passed Arthur’s head. He ducked and dodged a few more, jerking Juno’s reins one way and then the other to try and avoid the incoming fire. He squeezed with his legs around her and aimed again. Years of practice, years of riding and shooting, firing a gun from a moving horse was nothing any more to him. He could do it, no matter the steed.

He fired twice, each bullet hitting its mark in the face of the O’Driscoll men. Their horses reared, the dead weights on them slouching away from the saddle. One body’s foot remained in a stirrup and was dragged along the ground until that foot came loose.

One last man to deal with, the one on top of the woman they were pursuing in the first place. Arthur dropped out of Juno’s saddle as she slowed her. He took aim, walking steadily towards the O’Driscoll and the woman, as he pulled the trigger the woman shoved the man’s arm up, and the bullet missed its true intent instead, plunging into the muscle of his upper arm.

“DAMMIT!” The man clutched his arm, furious eyes turning on Arthur. “You bastard, I’ll—”

His words failed as the woman beneath him slammed something big into the side of his face. He saw the O’Driscoll’s express blank, as he lost consciousness and fell back. Then the woman was on top of him, pummeling his head with the rock she hit him with again, and again, and again, with a scream that sounded inhuman.

Arthur shouldered his rifle. He raised his hands, approaching slowly and in the hopes she wouldn’t fear him.

“Miss,” he called to her, but she was too far into her rage and blood lust to hear. The man’s head was nothing but a bloody pulp on the ground now. The rock and earth both stained red, and the woman’s hands up to the elbows spattered with blood and brain matter. The tattered clothes she wore also bore the marks of her anger. Still, she continued her assault bringing the rock down again,  _“Miss!”_  Arthur raised his voice this time and that seemed to get her attention.

Arm elevated, still gripping the rock she turned her blood-spattered face to him. Teeth bared, nostrils flared and eyes wide with both rage and terror, she dropped the rock and grappled for the dead man’s revolver which lay in his open, lifeless hand.

“Don’t come any closer!” She scrabbled back over the ground, struggling to get a good grasp on the gun as her hands were slick with blood.

“It’s okay, it’s okay…” Arthur lowered himself to seem less threatening. He’d seen the wild look in her eyes in other people before. Most recently in the eyes of Sadie Adler. The widow they rescued, whose husband the O’Driscoll’s murdered. That wild, unhinged mixture of fear and anger, as if being torn between the will to flee, and the will to fight. “I ain’t gonna hurt you…” Arthur dropped down to one knee. There was a space of about ten feet between them. He lowered the repeater on his shoulder to the ground. “You hurt?”

She sniffed and wiped her face with a bloodied hand smearing gore across her nose and left cheek. “Bastards k-killed my horse.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Arthur shuffled closer. “They take your clothes, too?” As if realising her state of dress for the first time, she pulled what she could of the ripped shirt around her and dropped her gaze to the dead body to her left. Arthur shrugged off his duster. He closed the space between them with slow, measured steps and eased it around her shoulders. She flinched when he got close, and he could see she was shaking, but at least the coat offered her some modesty.

“You ain’t one of them, are you?”

“Nah, I ain’t one of ‘em.” Arthur moved away again, giving her some space, watching as she clutched the jacket with bloodied fingers. “Can I take you some place? You live nearby?”

“No,” as she shook her head tufts of dark brown hair wafted across her face. “I-I’m a hunter. I travel, make camp where I need to. I ain’t had no proper home for years.”

“Hmm,” Arthur quirked his lips to one side. A nomadic life then, not unlike his own. Making home wherever was convenient at the time for the gang. “You know anyone around here?”

“No.” She looked at him then, brown eyes meeting his. The fight left her body and she all but shrank under his duster. “Th-they attacked me on the road. Killed my horse, t-took everything I had on me. I-I- I…”

“It’s alright now, Miss,” Arthur rose to his feet, steady and slow – he did not want to alarm her. She’d been through enough. “You can come with me if you like. Or I can drop you off somewhere. Valentine ain’t far from here. Or Emerald Ranch.”

“I-I… I don’t wanna go to those places.” She started to get to her feet, wobbling as though her own weight was too much for her legs to hold up. Arthur grabbed her up the upper arms, steadying her before she collapsed onto the ground. She was lean under his clothing. All muscle – undoubtedly from hunting and tracking throughout her life.

He considered the options available. He couldn’t just leave her here in the wilderness with nothing. She’d be dead before the day was out or taken captive by O’Driscoll’s again. He could just take her to Emerald Ranch or Valentine and just leave her there, ignoring her own desire. Both those places were  _civilized_ , and there would undoubtedly be someone who’d take pity on the woman. But then… while Charles was an outstanding hunter, he was often needed for jobs, and having a dedicated hunter for the camp wouldn’t necessarily be a  _bad_  thing.

Dutch would undoubtedly find a use for her, and it was Dutch who offered Mrs Adler a place in the gang after the O’Driscoll’s destroyed her life. If Dutch knew this woman had undergone a similar experience, well… he couldn’t very well turn her away. Not when she was another victim of Colm’s boys and their barbarity.

“You been through Hell. Lemme take you some place safe. You can eat somethin’, get some rest and figure out what you’re gonna do, okay?”

He could see her weighing up her options. She glanced down at the dead horse, the dead O’Driscoll, and at her own sorry state. She gazed over the open grasslands as if willing the air to give her an answer to the questions she was asking herself. When no answer came, she gave a resigned nod of her head.

“Okay, thank you.”

Arthur whistled for Juno and supported the woman around the shoulders as he led her towards his horse. He lifted her up from the ground to sit on the collection of pelts he’d accumulated over the last few days and then climbed into the saddle. Her hands – the blood now dry – cautiously held onto his waist. He eased Juno into a smooth trot, guiding her across the grass and away from the bodies, back to the road.

“I’m Arthur, by-the-way. Arthur Morgan.” He said to her after a few minutes of silent riding. He glanced at her over his shoulder every-so-often. He saw the faraway look in her eyes as she stared into the middle distance, seeing nothing. She was replaying whatever happened to her. He didn’t want to imagine what the O’Driscoll’s did… but he could make an educated guess.

“Isabel Ashwood.” She said, after a long pause.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Ashwood.”

“Where are we going?”

“My camp—well, it’s not just me. A lot of us. We’ve taken up residence in an area called Horseshoe Overlook. You know it?”

“No, sorry.” They fell into silence and the steady drum of Juno’s hoof beats. Arthur reasoned she might have fallen asleep and was a little surprised when she spoke again. “Thank you for saving my life, Mr Morgan.”

That caused him to suck in a quick breath like he’d just been punched. He was more used to taking lives than saving them. “You’re welcome.” Her hands tightened on his waist and he glanced at her over his shoulder. He could see her digging her teeth into her bottom lip as if willing herself not to cry. He turned his gaze back to the road, wanting to offer her what privacy he could. “Sit tight, we’ll be there soon.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two - Where Arthur Bring Isabel to the Gang's Camp At Horseshoe Overlook

* * *

Riding into the camp at Horseshoe Overlook, Arthur was met by the typical cursory glances from those on watch and those milling about. Cursory glances that were then double-takes when those who saw him also saw the second person on the back of his horse, wrapped in his coat.

As he eased Juno to the hitching post, Susan Grimshaw was the first to approach him, hands on her hips and a sharp, suspicious look on her features. She looked over Isabel with a hawk-like sharpness. Arthur saw some of the tension ease from her shoulders when it dawned on her that Isabel was no threat.

“Miss Grimshaw,” he greeted, swinging out of his saddle and onto the ground. “Best get another bed set up, we’ll be havin’ a guest for a while.”

Susan pursed her lips, “I’ll get somethin’ sorted once it’s cleared with Dutch.”

Pragmatic as always. She wasn’t going to waste time setting up a bed if Dutch turned around and said Isabel couldn’t stay. “Alright, then.” Arthur nodded. He turned his attention back to Isabel, lifting both arms to assist her down from Juno’s saddle. She was still clutching his coat to her body with bloodied hands, eyes wide as she took in the bustling set up around her.

Karen, Mary-Beth and Tilly all working away at laundry and mending while Javier serenaded them nearby with his guitar. Pearson by the rations wagon, carving up the carcass of a rabbit while Uncle sniffed around for bits and pieces, making himself a nuisance. Bill was on lookout and returned to his post having followed Arthur into the camp a small distance. Dutch and Hosea were in Dutch’s tent – whatever conversation they were in the middle of was now cut short. The O’Driscoll boy they’d captured was still tied to a tree near Pearson’s wagon. Isabel’s eyes lingered on him and his sorry state the longest.

“That ain’t gonna happen to you, Miss Ashwood.” Arthur gestured with the tips of his fingers for her to come towards him so he could help her down. “He’s a captive. You’re a guest.”

“Sometimes there ain’t much difference between the two,” replied Isabel. She leaned forward, putting her hands out on Arthur’s shoulders. He held her waist and eased her from the saddle to the ground. “Thank you, Mr Morgan.”

“Arthur!” Dutch’s voice was joined by his footfalls and those of Hosea as the two of them strode across the camp towards the hitching post. “I thought you was huntin’ for food, son.”

“I was,” Arthur shrugged, uncomfortable with the implication of Dutch’s words. “And I got some. But, on my way back here I saw Miss Ashwood gettin’ pursued by O’Driscoll’s and runnin’ for her life.”

“O’Driscolls?” Hosea repeated, a touch of panic in his voice.

“They’re all dead, and it weren’t nowhere near here.” Arthur pulled a cigarette from a box in his pocket, put it to his lips and lit a match off the underside of his boot. After inhaling he continued; “they attacked her on the road. Killed her horse, took everything she had on her.”

“Good on you, Arthur.” Hosea stepped towards them. “I’m sorry for the brusque welcome, my dear. I’m Hosea, sounds like you’ve had quite a rough time of it.”

Arthur had learned over time that Hosea was charismatic in a different way to Dutch. Where Dutch could charm the birds from the trees and convince people to see things his way, Hosea could calm a situation and put someone at ease with a warmness and father-like quality Dutch never possessed. He laid it on thick now for Isabel. Putting her at ease with slow movements and easy words. “Let’s get you cleaned up and into something more suitable, hm? You must be famished.”

Hosea guided Isabel further into camp, walking at her side and with the flat of his hand against her back as a gentle but firm presence. Isabel glanced over her shoulder, catching Arthur’s gaze with a wide-eyed stare. He nodded to her. Hosea was safe. She was safe now with them in their camp, and no O’Driscoll would get close to her here. Isabel returned her attention to Hosea who was calling Susan and Karen to find some clothes and set up a bed.

Dutch stood beside Arthur, crossing his arms with a sigh. “Pearson won’t be happy with another mouth to feed.”

“Dutch…” Arthur dropped his cigarette to the ground and snuffed it out with the toe of his boot. “What is it you taught us? We kill them that needs killin’. We save them that needs savin’. I couldn’t just…  _ignore_  what was right in front of me.” He thumbed the end of his nose. “Besides, a few less O’Driscoll’s in the world never hurt. Ain’t no one gonna be cryin’ over them.”

“I know, my boy. I know,” Dutch patted him on the shoulder. “Did she say anything to you? Why they attacked her?”

“Not really. Then again I don’t imagine Colm’s boys need much reason to attack someone. And a woman, travelin’ alone? That’s an easy target.”

“Hm.” Dutch gave a short nod of his head before exhaling heavily and sliding his thumbs into his gun belt. “Best go give Pearson whatever food you’ve brought us. He’s been grousing all morning about supplies.” He began to walk back to his tent.

“Will do.” Arthur reached into his satchel to begin retrieving cuts of meat wrapped in cloth from his hunting.

“And Arthur?” Dutch faced him, and Arthur met his gaze over the five feet between them. “She’s  _your_  responsibility while she’s here.”

Arthur nodded once. “Understood.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur Invites Isabel to Hunt With Him, and Gets to Know Her a Little Better

It was a few days after her arrival that Arthur checked up on Isabel. She remained in camp, recovering from her ordeal with the O’Driscoll’s while Arthur was gone with Javier on an easy job breaking into a homestead.

When he left, she was still in the torn clothing he found her in. On his return, he found her dressed in a cream shirt that once belong to Karen, and a corn-flower blue skirt that was one Mary-Beth no longer wore but had kept. The high button boots were once Tilly’s. Her hair was tied back, she was free of blood, and the bruises and cuts she had sustained were beginning to fade and heal.

A bed was set up for her with the other women of the camp. Not that Arthur was at all surprised that Isabel was keeping her distance from the men of the camp. Given her encounter with the O’Driscolls, he imagined she’d had about enough of men for life. He gave her space on his return. First going to the tithe box and depositing a few dollars and valuable trinkets he picked up. Then to his own tent, where he changed clothes and took the time to shave. When he was ready, he slid his hat back into place and went to where Isabel was sitting in camp, reading the newspaper Hosea almost always had on hand.

“How y-” he stopped, noticing Isabel start at the sound of his voice. Sliding his thumbs into his gun belt, Arthur leaned to one side. “Sorry, didn’t mean t’startle you.”

She put the paper to one side and peered back over her shoulder at him, “it’s fine. I was miles away.” She rose to her feet, dusting imaginary dirt from the back of her skirt. “How did the homestead job go?”

Arthur gave a wry smile. No one in the gang hid what they did. Who they were, the way the lived wasn’t a secret by any means… it was just amusing to hear someone from outside the gang ask about it so casually.

“Fine,” he answered. “Decent enough take.” Isabel nodded, and they remained silent, each searching for something to say. Arthur recovered first. “How y’settlin’ in?”

“Alright.” She put the paper on the table, folded. “I been tryin’ to be useful, but I’m gettin’ a little restless. Ain’t one to stay in one place for long.”

“Wanna go hunting?”

“Sure,” Isabel visibly brightened at the suggestion. Only for her face to fall a moment later. “Only… all my guns an’ supplies were taken, so…”

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. Stupid and incompetent as always, putting his foot in his mouth. He cleared his throat, trying to recover from his comment. “Well, if we’re huntin’ nearby then its best to use somethin’ silent. Draws less attention to the camp. You can use my bow. You’re probably a better shot than me, anyhow.”

The corner of her mouth quirked into a brief smile. Not as bright as a few moments before, but still genuine. “Thank you, Mr Morgan.”

He gathered his bow from where he stored it at camp in his ten, and a mixture of normal and small game arrows that he carried with him while Isabel kept a tight grip on the bow. He noticed she wrung her hands around the wooden shaft as they left the security of the camp. It was probably the first time she’d left since she arrived. It didn’t matter how eager she was to have a change of scenery, leaving that safe space was bound to be disconcerting, at first.

They walked a passed Bill on watch, making a slow trek down the hill and out of the woods. The sound of the river was clear, covered only by bird song and the occasion chatter of something or other in the trees. Arthur handed Isabel an arrow which she nocked, keeping an eye out while they continued through the grass.

Silence again. Born of her concentration, and Arthur’s uncertainty of what to talk about. In a way, it didn’t matter. Talking would frighten away any potential game after all, but he still knew very little about the woman he rescued. That bothered him.

“Your horse.” He started, and stopped, grimacing. An excellent topic, the horse that was killed. In the escape from Blackwater he lost his own beloved mare, Boudicca. A loss that still stung. That horse was as ornery as anything, but she was a good horse. Loyal and foolhardy. Arthur would miss her for a long time, yet.

“Willow,” Isabel replied. “Her name was Willow.”

Arthur adjusted one of his rolled-up sleeves. “What kind of horse was she?”

“Hungarian-half breed.“ She paused in her steps, drew back the arrow and loosed it. There was a shocked squeak from tall grass several yards away. Arthur knew a direct hit when he heard one and followed Isabel to where there was now a rabbit with an arrow sticking out of its right eye. She picked it up and removed the arrow. Arthur took the carcass from her, slung it over his shoulder and continued to follow. “She was a good horse. Fearless. Sooner stomp a snake to death, than shy away from it.”

“Had ‘er a long time?”

“Five years.” Isabel drew another arrow back, held the position for a moment before relaxing. Whatever she was aiming at was gone. “Before her, I had an appaloosa called Frigg.”

“Norse mythology?” asked Arthur, quirking a brow and peering up from beneath his hat. He knew a little about mythologies from different cultures through Hosea, and his insistence that Arthur read and keep reading. As a young man, Arthur resented being plied with books. Now as an adult, he was glad Hosea was so determined that he not only know how to read but keep reading. Reading fed his mind. Reading, along with his drawing, kept him sane when things were quiet and there was a lull in jobs. Reading kept him thinking. Though Arthur knew he was too stupid for his thoughts to be of any real consequence.

Isabel glance at him from slightly over her shoulder with an enigmatic smile, “my Pa told ‘em to me. My favorite stories was about Frigg, and the Valkyries always fascinated me as a kid.”

“Your pa teach you t’read, too?”

“An’ write.” Isabel drew back on the bow. Another arrow gone, another yelp, another rabbit carcass and the arrow in the eye. “He was always teachin’ me somethin’. Would tell me about guns as he was cleanin’ ‘em before I could even walk, so I’m told.”

There was a fondness in her voice when she spoke about her father. It was the first real emotion other than fear and panic that Arthur had heard. “You was close?”

“We was,” Isabel stopped, her gaze taking in the blackened and bare woods now in front of them. A forest fire that swept through the trees not long before Arthur and the gang arrived. “Think is was ‘cause I was a girl. I had four brothers. He was tougher on them than me.”

“Don’t surprise me.” Arthur followed her into the burnt woods. He brushed his book over the singed ground, pushing aside debris and ash to reveal fresh green shoots growing underneath the damage. Somehow, it cheered him to see new life rising from devastation.

“We ain’t close no more.” Isabel said. “Had a fallin’ out when I was fifteen or so. I ain’t seen or spoken to ‘im since.”

“That’s…” Arthur paused, adjusting the two rabbit carcasses on his shoulder. He never had a good relationship with his father, so he couldn’t relate to that. But arguing? Falling out? That he could understand. “Your ma?”

“Dead.” She stood close to a tree, pausing and breathing deep in the silent, eerie forest. Her fingers were closed around the bowstring, arrow ready to draw at the slightest hint of movement. Arthur saw the tension in her shoulders, a clench in her jaw, eyes scanning the bare trees for game. “At least, s’what I was told.”

“You ain’t sure?”

Another shrug. She didn’t elaborate further. Instead she pulled the arrow back and released on an exhale. Arthur saw it pierce the head of a large turkey that was digging around in the brush. One thing was for certain, she was a good hunter. Patient, quick, with deadly aim when still. He wondered how good she was with a rifle, or a revolver, or when moving at speed on horseback. Would she make a good gun to have on jobs? Or would she be a hinderance?

“What about you, Mr Morgan?” Isabel asked, lifting her skirt as it caught on a twig.

“What about me?”

“You been askin’ me lots of questions.” Isabel picked up the dead turkey. Several others continued to scratch at the underbrush about twenty feet away. “From what I been hearin’ in camp, y’all had a bad run of luck in Blackwater? You runnin’ from somethin’?”

“The law.” Arthur replied. “Pinkertons.” Thinking about Blackwater gave him a headache. He knew pieces of what happened, but those who were on the boat seemed reluctant to talk about what went so terribly wrong. Arthur knew what went wrong. Dutch listened to Micah, that’s what went wrong. The job he and Hosea were working on would have gone off without a hitch, and the take would have been plentiful. Why Dutch decided to agree to Micah’s foolish scheme… Now, all the hard work was for nothing, and the money they accumulated over the years was stuck, hidden in Blackwater, with no way to get it.

_What a waste._

“Job went south. We had to run.”

“What was the job?”

“Robbery.” Arthur answered after few beats of silence. He observed Isabel as they approached an abandoned campsite. She started to rifle through what remained of the bedrolls and make-shift shelter. It looked as though this was where the fire started. His pregnant pause wasn’t due to that, though. He was simply wary of revealing too much to this woman he rescued. After all, trust was something that didn’t come easy. He barely knew her, and he didn’t know if she intended to stick around or leave. If she left and knew too much, there was no stopping her from going to the Pinkertons and ratting them out. There was something else, too. Some important aspect to Isabel Ashwood he was sure he was missing. She asked about the homestead robbery he and Javier did. She seemed to know the language of outlaws, and that… both confused, and fascinated him.

“Looks like whoever was here left something behind.” Isabel’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. A lockbox was in front of her, charred, but still sealed. She’d pulled it out from underneath some cloth that was once a bedroll.

Arthur placed the rabbits on the ground and knelt beside her. He pulled out his hunting knife, pushed it between the lid and base of the box and forced the box open. Often, the contents were disappointed; a stashed bottle of whiskey was usually as good as it got. This was different. There was a necklace, platinum probably, with pearls between dangling points, a tarnished gold pocket watch, some cocaine gum, and below that a money clip with several bills neatly folded in half.

He smiled, glancing to his side at Isabel, who was watching him with what was probably the first genuine smile he’d seen her make.

“Lucky for us, unlucky for them.” Arthur stated, lifting the valuables from the box and slipping them into his satchel. He quickly counted the money in the clip. Twenty-two dollars. “Here.” He offered it to Isabel.

“I ain’t after no charity.” Isabel snorted, getting to her feet and picking up the turkey carcass by the neck. “You keep it. I’d rather earn my keep.”

“You said yourself, you ain’t got nothing no more.” Arthur followed her, still holding the clip out towards her. “Consider it a finder’s fee. I don’t care. You should take it.” She gave him a shrewd look. He sighed, growing slightly impatient. “You can at least buy your own damn bow with this.”

“What about the box? Ain’t everyone s’posed to contribute?”

Arthur lifted up the rabbits. “You is. Huntin’ is contributin’. We can sell the pelts and the feathers from that bird, and the meat’ll keep us all fed a while longer.”

She looked doubtful, and Arthur didn’t blame her. He would have been sceptical, too. She slowly extended a hand and took the money clip. Arthur watched her thumb through the notes, separating them. She offered him three bills. Eleven dollars. “That’s fair. We both found the box. We both hunted.”

He half-sighed and half-groaned, taking the eleven dollars and pocketing it. There wasn’t any point arguing any more about such a small amount of money and at least she’d taken  _something_. He admired her drive to earn her keep and make her own way, but pride could be…  _might_  make things difficult. Though, whether her refusal of the full amount was due to pride or something else, Arthur couldn’t rightly say.

“We should get back,” he said, his boot snapping a brittle branch underfoot. A flurry of wings and caws erupted above from a murder of crows, disturbed by the sound as they all took off from their roost. “It ain’t safe out here for you to wander unarmed.”

“I’d say I’m safe enough with you, Mr Morgan.” Isabel replied, a little playfulness in her tone. She fell into step beside him, and they walked back to the camp in companionable silence.

* * *

_I saved a woman from a handful of O’Driscolls a few days ago. Isabel Ashwood. Seems nice enough so far, recovering from her ordeal. I watched her pulverize one of the men’s head in with a rock and her own brute strength. Not that I can blame her. I can only imagine what them animals put her through._

_Saw in her the same kind of feral nature I seen in Mrs Adler when we found her in the Grizzlies. That will to fight and survive, rather than lay down and die._

_She’s settling in slowly. Pearson’s been complaining about more mouths to feed, but he’s the only one been grousing about her. Tilly and Mary-Beth have been kind and welcoming. Karen too, been keepin an eye on her and I heard her giving Uncle what-for more than once when he was gettin’ too forward. She works hard and don’t complain – which makes Miss Grimshaw happy._

_On the ride back to camp she told me she was a hunter. Saw that first hand when I lent her my bow and went with her into the woods beyond Horseshoe Overlook to hunt for game. Two rabbits and a wild turkey later I can see she’s got some skill. Good aim. Wondering what she’d be like shooting a moving target or shooting from the back of a horse._

_She don’t have one. A horse, that is. O’Driscolls killed it when they attacked her. When she talked about it, made me miss Boadicea all over again. She was a good horse. Deserved a better end than what she got. Maybe I should talk to Dutch, see if we can spare one of the carriage horses? Or see if the stable in Valentine is selling off any for cheap._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur Tries To Strip Off and Take a Bath
> 
> From a prompt given to me on tumblr: "you smell like a wet dog".
> 
> Takes place in Chapter Two game-time.

Arthur knew what was coming even before Isabel opened her mouth. It was the wrinkle in her nose and the way her upper lip curled back a little that gave it away. He sighed internally glancing about for clean clothes.

“You smell like a wet dog,” she stated, rising up from where she was previously sat by the campfire. “What have you been doing, Mr Morgan?”

Arthur did not furnish her with an answer. Instead, he busied himself with collecting a clean set of clothes from his saddlebags. He gave his shirt a brief sniff while his back was turned to Isabel. He agreed, he  _did_  smell like wet dog. A wash in the river wasn’t much, but it would at least make his scent less offensive until they reached a town with a bath. 

Juno gave a low wicker from where she and Valkyrie were grazing. Their saddles were in the tent Isabel set up, hidden from view of any potential thieves. 

Fresh clothes collected, Arthur turned on his heel and began the short walk down to the shoreline. It was early evening. He would dry off in good time after a quick dip… Not that the humidity of Lemoyne really allowed anyone to ever properly dry off. 

“Do you want me to watch your clothes for you?” Isabel asked, following a few steps behind him. “Don’t want no thieves runnin’ off with your unmentionables now, do you?”

Arthur had to chuckle at that. “Unmentionables will be stayin’ on, Miss Ashwood.” He offered a small grin over his shoulder pausing when he noticed her hand stretched out towards him. He paused where he’d started to unbutton his vest. “Wha’s this?” he picked up what she held. It was small rectangle with rounded corners. White in colour with a flaky texture and random bumps he could feel when he ran his thumb over the surface.

“Soap.” Isabel held her arms out expectantly. “C’mon, give me your clothes.”

Lips quirking to one side, Arthur placed the soap on a nearby rock with the clean clothes he was going to change into and continued to undress. His vest first, then his gun belt. He unfastened the top button of his jeans and began on the top buttons of his shirt, pausing a moment when he realised Isabel was watching. 

“You mind?” he asked, a little uneasy that she was observing him so openly.

“No.” Isabel smiled back. A grin that was playful and infectious and reached her eyes. He faced her and folded his arms. With a small huff, she clenched her eyes closed. “Never wouldda thought you was the bashful type.”

Arthur stripped his soiled shirt off and draped it over her awaiting arms with his vest. “I ain’t.” His reply was a little gruff, “Ain’t much t’look at, anyways.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment, Mr Morgan.” Said Isabel. Arthur was surprised to hear no hint of mirth or mocking in her tone and was unwilling to admit that his skin warmed a little to the small compliment. Once he stripped his jeans off, he quickly waved a hand in front of her eyes before draping them on her arms with the rest of his clothes. 

He decided it was safer to pretend she didn’t say anything than actually acknowledge her comment. After all, she likely meant it only in jest, and he would be a fool to take it to heart. The river water was freezing when he stepped in and it made his skin prickle while he adjusted to the temperature. He waded deeper until he was up to his waist and about ten feet from the shoreline.

“You decent?” Isabel asked. 

Arthur was surprised to see her eyes still closed and arms still extended, sagging a bit under the weight of his clothes. “You can open yer eyes now.” He called to her. She blinked her eyes open, glanced down at the clothes in her arms and then at him. 

“Don’t forget the soap!” she called to him.

“I won’t, woman!” He waited until she was further up the shore and at their camp, her back to him, before he went for the soap. The smell was too floral for him, but it would at least be more pleasant than the smell of wet dog.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur Comforts Isabel As She's Frightened of a Thunderstorm
> 
> A prompt from tumblr: "here, take my blanket."

Arthur couldn’t sleep. 

The rain started about two hours before sundown. A light drizzle turning into a torrential storm in minutes. He and Isabel set up camp as quickly as they could partially defended from the worst of the weather by a cliff overhang. It wasn’t much, but it would give the horses a little bit of shelter.

The campfire was no match for the rain, and after sharing a meal of dried, salted meats they each retired to their separate tents to wait out the storm and try to sleep. 

Then the thunderstorm rolled in, and Arthur knew sleep would be elusive. While the rain beat down on the canvas of his tent, he sketched and wrote in his journal by the light of his lantern. Each time the lightning crackled he counted the seconds until the thunder rolled. The time was getting shorter, meaning the storm was closing in on their location. 

He didn’t mind the rain, or the thunder, or the lightning for that matter. It was just nature doing what she did, and it would pass. In the morning, the earth would be soaked, the rivers would be swollen, and the dry, prickly grasses and the sad looking flowers would be renewed. Arthur could go so far as to say he liked this kind of weather, and what it meant for the world around him. 

He hadn’t heard a peep out of Isabel, and wondered if she was just a deep sleeper. That was, until a particularly deep rumble of thunder growled overhead and he heard a scream from the tent beside his. Throwing his journal to the side, Arthur scrabbled to his feet grabbing his lantern and Scofield revolver. He ran from his tent the few steps to Isabel’s and nudged the canvas aside to see in.

The mild panic in his chest subsided, melting into something he did not want to admit was sympathy. Isabel was sitting up in her bedroll, a blanket around her and her hands covering her ears. What pulled at his stomach, though, was the way her eyes were squeezed closed and the tears dripping down her nose. She was trembling, and when another flash of lightning and crack of thunder echoed overhead, she recoiled away from the noise almost whimpering. 

Sighing, Arthur put his lantern down inside her tent. Half drenched, he went back to his own tent, gathered up his blanket and returned to hers, slipping inside silently. He holstered his revolver and knelt before her, reaching out with a hand and tapping Isabel’s shoulder to alert her of his presence. The shock that filtered through her expression was replaced by terror when the next bout of thunder and lightning shook through them both, loud enough that Arthur was sure the ground trembled under his feet. Isabel screamed again, launching herself at him and throwing her arms around his shoulders almost knocking him off his feet. She started sobbing.

Arthur was frozen in place, confused and shocked by the fear she displayed and her actions. Glancing around the barren tent for some kind of inspiration, he swallowed hard on the lump that had risen to his throat and gave her back a tentative pat.

“You’re okay,” he soothed, keeping his voice low and easing Isabel from around his neck. “You’re okay…” 

She sat back, cheeks flush and damp, eyelashes clumping together while she sucked in quick breaths. She rubbed her cheeks with her hands, smearing tears over her skin. Arthur moved further into her tent and sat beside her. “Here, take my blanket.” He offered and draped it around her shoulders. 

Isabel tugged it around her, watching him while he settled on his backside uncomfortably aware of their closeness. He cleared his throat and stared dead ahead out of the flap of the tent at the rain. “Thank you.” Isabel said after a few seconds. She sniffled and wipe her cheeks again. “S-sorry ‘bout this.”

“S’all right.” Arthur shrugged, “we all got somethin’ we’re afraid of.”

They sat in silence. Isabel squeezing her eyes closed and jumping every time there was a crash and the sky lit up with white. After the third time, Arthur shuffled closer until their legs were touching. Isabel threw him a side-long glance as he hesitated, his right arm slightly elevated unsure whether to put it around her, or not. He wanted to offer comfort. To remind her she was safe. But… her experience with the O’Driscolls. What she went through… He wasn’t sure if that was a good idea, or not. 

Isabel decided for him. 

She opened the blanket he had given her and offered one side of it to him. “Here.”

“You need it.”

“We can share.” Her voice cracked a little, and the smile that came to her mouth was a small genuine one, but there was an element of pain concealed within her expression. 

Arthur sighed. He huddled under the blanket with her, tucking it around his shoulders and shifted his right arm back, giving more space for her to get close and leaning back on his hand. Isabel huddled as close as she was able. After a few moments, she leaned her head on his shoulder, releasing a long, slow breath. 

Fighting against the twisting, nervous sensation wrapping around his chest, Arthur tilted his head to the side, nestling his cheek in Isabel’s hair. He moved his right hand from the ground to lightly press on the small of her back. When the thunder made her start again, he moved it in small circles.

“You’re okay,” he soothed, his voice rough and low. “You’re okay…”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur Gives Isabel His Blanket for Warmth, While She Watches Eagles
> 
> Prompt from tumblr: "here, take my blanket."

“Here, take my blanket.”

Arthur sat beside Isabel after draping it around her shoulders, letting his feet dangle over the side of the cliff. She turned her head to look at him, peering through his binoculars.

“Whoa–” she pulled them from her eyes, “guess they don’t work on things so good when they’re close.” 

She turned her gaze back out over the flats in the direction of the slowly setting sun. Arthur found himself smiling, her enthusiasm for being able to see into the distance amusing him. 

“You see anythin’?” He pulled his journal from his satchel, flicking through the pages to a blank one.

“Eagles.” Isabel stated. She pointed with her left hand. “A courting pair of… bald eagles, I think.”

Arthur followed her finger staring out into the sky and lifting the brim of his hat to try and see better. He could see black blurs in the distance which  _might_  have been eagles. Or, might have been his eyes. 

“See ‘em?”

“Naw.”

She passed the binoculars to him. “There.” He held them up to his eyes, adjusting the view to get them into focus. Her fingers around his chin almost caused him to drop them, but he tightened his grip and held his breath. “Over there…” He allowed Isabel to move his head, relaxing his jaw unaware he ever clenched it. “See ‘em now?”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye around the rim of the binoculars. She was almost cheek-to-cheek with him. So close he could feel the warmth of her skin and strands of her hair fluttering. Arthur’s blood pounded in his ears.  _How_  could she do this to him so easily? 

He swallowed on a lump in his throat forcing his focus back to the sky and the black blobs weaving and diving in the air.

“Yea, yea, I think I see ‘em.” He could make out the fast moving shapes more clearly now. It was hard to follow them given how swiftly they moved, soaring and gliding. The two forms coming together and began to spin and plummet towards the earth at breakneck speed before separating off to repeat the pattern again. He could hear Isabel’s excited gasp beside him.

“Did you see the death spiral?”

“Is that what it’s called?” Arthur pulled his binoculars away from his eyes and handed them back to Isabel. He took up his pencil and started to sketch. “Honestly, I never spent much time payin’ attention to ‘em. “

“You should.” Isabel said, the binoculars back over her eyes. “They pair for life, y’know? Well– if one of ‘em dies then the other will find a new mate. But, they stay as a pair the rest of the time.”

“Sounds like you admire ‘em.”

She snorted, “why shouldn’t I? Eagles are loyal and smart. They’re dedicated parents. They–”

“Okay, okay,” laughed Arthur giving her an amused look.“Didn’t mean to touch a nerve.”

“Sorry.” Isabel put the binoculars down behind her and pulled Arthur’s blanket close around her shoulders for warmth. She kicked her legs, peering out over the horizon. The sun was beginning to dip lower. It would be night soon. “What’re you drawin’?”

Arthur closed the cover of his journal with a sharp snap. “Nothin’.” 

She pursed her lips, “one day I’m gonna read all the awful things you write about me in there.”

“It’s just a lot of nonsense.” Arthur slid his journal back into his satchel. He checked the soles of his boots before rising to his feet. “We’ll need to get a move on back to camp soon.”

“Alright.” Isabel leaned back on her hands. “When the sun’s gone down.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur Kicks a Snake
> 
> From a prompt on tumblr: "did you just hiss at me?"

“Did you just hiss at me?” Arthur asked, pausing mid-step.

“No”, Isabel came to a stop a few steps behind him, “why would I–”

Without thinking about it, he whirled around, grabbed her and yanked her towards him causing her to stumble. At that moment a snake hidden in the long grass snapped towards where Isabel’s leg had been mere seconds ago.

 _“Jesus!”_ Exclaimed Arthur, a rush of adrenaline making his heart quicken. He lashed out with a foot, kicking the snake into the air and a good ten or so feet away. He returned his attention to Isabel, “you okay? You nearly got bit!”

She stared at him, wide eyed with alarm. “I-I-I’m fine!”  

“Couldda been poisonous. I’ve dealt with a coupla people out here been bit.” Explained Arthur. “You sure you’re okay? It didn’t get ya?”

Isabel visibly swallow, “I-I think I’m fine. I… I usually look where I’m goin’, I guess I was distracted by somethin’.”

“I guess.”

“You can let go of me now, Mr Morgan.”

Only then did Arthur realise he had his hands securely on her waist, her body almost pressed flush to his as he’d yanked her towards him out of the striking range of the snake. Her palms were flat on his vest, a bright flush in her cheeks. He swiftly released her and took several large steps away.

“Right.” He turned, adjusted his hat and cleared his throat, breathing a deep lungful of mountain air to clear his head. 

_Stupid. Stupid fool._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur Shares a Bed With Isabel in Strawberry
> 
> Prompt from tumblr: "sharing a bed".

Strawberry was an alright little town. If you didn’t count the tourists, the cold, or that insufferable little mayor. As far as civilization went, Strawberry was a place Arthur could manage. 

The hotel was full when he and Isabel passed through on their way to Owanjila Lake and Big Valley. With a storm on the horizon, both tired, and their horses in need of a rest, they agreed without speaking to spend the night and set off again early in the morning. The Visitor’s Center was the only place with space for them to stay.

One room. One bed.

Why did this backwater little town even  _need_ a Visitor’s Center?

It was late. Having already grabbed a blanket from his saddle bag, Arthur went and sat in the armchair in the corner, kicking off his boots when he sat. “You take the bed.” He said to Isabel, leaning back and tugging his hat down over his eyes. Isabel was less likely to argue if he acted like he was tired and simply gave her no room to disagree.

It worked. 

He heard her remove her boots and her duster. She washed her face in the wash basin and then he heard the rustle of the covers and the lamp was extinguished. No fuss. Simple.

The chair wasn’t exactly comfortable, the back was hard and dug into his shoulder blades. The seat arms were a bit snug on him, and it was difficult to find a relaxed position for his arms to rest in. He grumbled and grunted when he moved. He stretched his neck back a few times when it started to ache. The movement of the moon across the sky was the only indication he had that time was indeed passing. 

Sleep came. With difficulty, but it came. It wasn’t restful - it rarely was - and Arthur grunted awake, instinctively reaching for his revolver when he realised someone was tugging on his arm. 

“Wh-what?” He grumbled, flicking the rim of his hat up. 

“C’mon.” Isabel had him by the arm and was pulling. “You’re movin’ an’ grouchin’ like an old man. Come sleep w’me.”

“I’m fine, woman.” Arthur snatched his arm back. “Go back t’bed!” He crossed them over his chest and sank down into the chair. “An’ lemme sleep.”

Isabel stood up straight, hands on her hips. She was illuminated from behind by the lights from Strawberry which only gave Arthur the slightest view of her expression. “There’s enough space f’the two of us.” She grabbed his arm again, “now c’mon!”

Arthur sat fast, putting his weight into his legs like a petulant child. He’d seen Isabel lift the carcasses of pronghorns and small alligators onto her horse, he was not about to be moved so easily. 

“You ain’t gonna let me rest until I agree, is you?”

She stopped pulling and leaned towards him, “I’m probably ‘bout as stubborn as you.”

With a deep sigh, Arthur got up from the chair and went to the bed. He removed his jacket and lay down on one side, while Isabel went around to the opposing side and did the same. She pulled the blanket up to cover them both. Arthur glanced over his shoulder to see her back was facing him. 

He lay there in the darkness, awake and intensely aware of Isabel mere inches from him for… he didn’t know how long. He listened to the sound of her breathing, the occasional rustle of fabric when she moved, the sleepy moans she made when she shifted her sleeping position. Arthur stared at the darkness behind his eyelids, willing himself to sleep and doing his best to ignore the tightness in his chest and the tension coiling in his belly. 

The last time he shared a bed with a woman was… God, he couldn’t remember the last time he shared a bed with a woman. He wasn’t one for visiting working girls like some of the younger members of the gang, so he reasoned it must have been years, at least, since he did this. Though, he wasn’t sure if this counted. After all, they were just  _sleeping_. Or, at least, Isabel was. Arthur considered what ‘sharing a bed with a woman’ really meant. Did it mean sharing after sex? Or sharing in a more innocent sense? Which this clearly was. 

His mind turned the question and rationale over and over as he agonized over it. At some point, sleep claimed him.

Arthur woke to the sounds of birdsong and a few voices calling ‘good morning’ to one another. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, shifting and finding feeling in his muscles and limbs. 

“Mornin’…” 

Isabel’s voice drew his attention and he realised there was a weight over his waist. A quick glance down and he saw her arm slung over him, her fingers clutching his shirt. He peered back over his shoulder, There was Isabel, eyes still closed and her front almost pressed flush to his back, her hair mussed and messy from sleep. 

He considered his options. Either get up, start the day, disturb Isabel and this comfort she had found. Or, lie back, pretend to go back to sleep, and embrace this strange intimacy between them for a little while. He wondered if that would be unfair, or selfish. To give in to that desire, and risk fooling her that there was more than a friendliness between them. After all, he saw her as a friend, same as he saw Sadie, and Karen, and Mary-Beth, and Tilly. He didn’t  _want_  to see her as more than that. Didn’t desire her beyond that… At least, he didn’t  _want_  to desire more than that.

It was complicated. 

Too complicated for so early in the morning.

Arthur flopped onto his back. “Mornin’.” He stretched an uncertain arm out, watching Isabel resettle herself having been disturbed. She snuggled closer, burying herself against his body and her face into his shirt collar. Her arm still lingered over his waist, rising and falling with the breaths Arthur focused on keeping steady. 

“We should get up.” Isabel mumbled. 

That arm he stretched out, Arthur now raised to curl around Isabel’s shoulders bringing her closer to him. He bent one leg for comfort, stared out of the partially open curtains at the dawn light outside. “Naw,” Arthur sighed. He started to trace the veins in the back of her hand with his fingers. His selfishness, his wants, his desires won out. He was weak. Foolish to think she would ever want him, but he could indulge a little… It was harmless, wasn’t it?

“Hm?” Isabel’s eyes opened slightly.

“Go back t’sleep.” Arthur soothed, rubbing her top arm with his hand. “Still early.”

She gave a sleepy moan in reply, and her body relaxed against him. 

Arthur stared at the ceiling.

Totally harmless.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur and Isabel Take a Chance to Relax At Clemens Point
> 
> Prompted on tumblr: "one falling asleep in the other's lap"

Days when there were no jobs to do and no schemes to run were rare. It wasn’t often Arthur was able to find time to relax and rest… Not often he was given that opportunity, but on the few occasions it was possible he took full advantage. 

He chose to go fishing, riding along the shoreline from Clemen’s Point. Arthur was the first to admit he wasn’t a good fisherman, but he was better than Isabel. Isabel liked to stand in the water and try and catch fish with her hands or with a knife. More-often-than not, she wound up face first in the water and empty-handed.

It was amusing, if nothing else. 

The day was warm. Bright sunshine beaming down from above. Both Juno and Valkyrie were unsaddled and after rolling about in the grass had settled to graze nearby, wading a few inches into the shallows. 

Arthur’s fishing rod was set up on the shore, but for now he and Isabel took refuge under a nearby tree. She sat cross-legged, a pile of arrows and feathers on one side of her, and her hunting knife on the other. At first, Arthur had lay next to her, his hat covering his face and his head resting back on a patch of grass, that was until Isabel removed her jacket, rolled it up into a pillow and offered her lap.

“It’s more comfortable.” She argued when Arthur refused. 

He gave into her request after a bit of badgering, and was now dozing. His hands rising and falling on his chest with his slow breaths. 

Water lapped at the edge of the lake, and aside from the occasional bird call and the buzzing of insects, everything was blissfully quiet.

“This ain’t so bad,” Arthur declared after a while.

“What ain’t?” Isabel asked.

“This.” Arthur gestured vaguely with a hand wave. “Nice to have some time like this.” 

“Oh, really?” There was laughter in Isabel’s voice, and as Arthur lifted his hat, blinking in the Rhodes sun, he saw her slipping her newly fletched arrows into a quiver. 

“It’s nice t’spend some time bein’ quiet.” He explained, brushing the end of his nose. “Ain’t no one shootin’ at us. No one yellin’ to get work done or t’be out huntin’…”

Isabel leaned back on her hands. “They certainly do put a lot on you at camp.” After a moment, she reached into her satchel nearby and pulled out an old, worn book Arthur had seen her reading a few times before. The once blue cover was more grey now, and the title was worn off the cover and the spine.

“Best not t’think about that right now.” Arthur sighed, “don’t ruin the afternoon with worryin’ about camp.” 

He took one of Isabel’s hands and drew it down to hold to his chest. He heard her chuckle briefly, her thumb running over his. “Alright, Mr. Morgan. Just this once.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur Slowly Recovers From His Ordeal With The O'Driscoll's, and Isabel Tends To His Wounds
> 
> Prompted on tumblr: "patching up wounds".

It was three days since Arthur returned. Three days since he came back to Clemens Point, slumped over Juno and barely able to stay in her saddle. Three days since he was helped to his bed feverish, his wound infected and teetering between life and death.

He was a fighter. Strong, and stubborn, but that didn’t necessarily guarantee survival. Even the strongest man could be brought down by a gangrenous wound, or a disease of some kind, and Arthur Morgan was no different. 

He fought though, and Isabel took up vigil at his bed side taking over for Miss Grimshaw within the first hour of his return. She hovered over Reverend Swanson who administered morphine to dull the pain of the injury and cleaned up what Arthur started. He removed what was left of the bullet in his shoulder, cleaned up the roughly cauterized flesh and stitched it back together with small, neat stitches. 

It was the first time Isabel never saw the Reverend’s hands trembling. 

After that all anyone could do was wait. Hosea mixed yarrow and ginseng into a paste to help with the skin healing. He also bottled some for Arthur to try and drink the rare times he was awake. Pearson gave Isabel extra helpings to stew to try and feed him to help keep his strength up, while Lenny and Charles made sure to keep the camp trouble makers at bay so Arthur could rest and heal uninterrupted.

On the morning of the forth day, Arthur came to consciousness early, startling Isabel when he jerked up in his camp bed, breathing hard. His face was flushed with fever, sweat dripping down his forehead plastering his hair to his forehead. His body trembling in the cool, early morning mist and Isabel placed her palm flat on his chest.

“You’re okay,” she inched closer, perching on the edge of his bed. 

Arthur gripped her hand, blue-green eyes darting around in confusion, as if lost and struggling to recall a dream. “Where–?”

“Clemens Point. You ain’t in no danger. Not here.” She pushed his hair back from his face, curling some of the longer strands behind one of his ears. “Breathe, Arthur, breathe…”

He did breathe. Long, slow breaths. When he reached up to touch his injured shoulder, he seemed shocked to see the gauze and bandages covering it. Isabel poured him a drink from her water skin, holding the cup to his lips. “C’mon,” she nodded to it, “it’s just water.”

“I’d prefer whiskey.” Arthur replied with a gruff hoarseness to his voice through lack of use. He drank without complaint, his eyes growing clearer after a refreshing himself. “I should–”

“You ain’t goin’ no where,” Isabel stopped him. 

Arthur leveled her with a look of annoyance. Impressive for a man sweating and pale. “I ain’t no child, woman. I can manage.”

Narrowing her eyes, Isabel got to her feet. “Put weight on your arm.”

“What?”

“I want t’see you put weight on your arm. If you can do that, I’ll leave you be.” She stood back, folding her arms and waited. She was calling his bluff. Arthur might have been a strong, stubborn man, but he wasn’t a fool - despite what everyone said. He knew, as well as she did, that being able to sit up didn’t mean he was well. His arm was still a mess, and using it too soon would cause permanent damage. 

When he hadn’t moved for a good ten seconds and the two of them simply stared at the other, challenging the other to back down, Arthur gave in. He was too tired to fight, and he had no intention of using what little energy he hand trying to prove Isabel wrong. 

She sat back on the edge of his camp bed. “Lemme change your bandages, then you can get back to restin’.”

“I ain’t good at restin’.”

“I noticed.” She lifted her eyebrows, amused. 

Gingerly, she removed the old, soiled bandages and tossed them onto the table beside his bed. He noticed then that fresh flowers had been placed there, along with various other well-meanings gifts. 

“It’s healin’ up pretty good.” Isabel murmured, touching the flesh around the stitches. After cleaning around the wound with water, she reached for a mortar on the ground. Inside was a deep green paste with hints of red in it. 

“Hosea?”

“Mhm,” she smeared some of the paste over the healing wound with two fingers, smoothing it over the stitches with a touch that made Arthur clench his teeth together. “It’s drawin’ out any pus and infection. Doin’ a good job of it so far.”

“He’s smart.” Said Arthur, watching as Isabel pressed fresh gauze to the area. She moved closer to wrap the bandage around his shoulder and chest to keep the gauze tight. It was the first time he’d seen the look of concentration etched on her face and the hollow dark circles beneath her eyes. She was tired, didn’t look like she’d slept much, if at all, over the last week. 

She must have felt him watching because she glanced up at him, puffing her hair out of her face as she did so. As she finished tying the bandage, she sat back to admire her handiwork.

“Done.”

“Hey,” Arthur squinted and leaned towards her, his mind going fuzzy at the edges, like he was underwater. He slid his hand along Isabel’s face, tilting her head up so they were eye-to-eye and…  _close._  “I ain’t never noticed that before…” He muttered, focusing in on her eyes that darted between his own. 

“What?”

“Your eyes… they got little rings of green in ‘em.” He told her, a smile pulling at his lips. His tongue was heavy in his mouth, and he could hear his words slurring together like he was drunk. “Like tree rings. Little flashes of green an’… s’pretty…”

Isabel retreated a little, just as Arthur’s head flopped forward as though it was too heavy to hold up. His forehead rest on her shoulder. Something in him was making him drowsy. Something else in Hosea’s damn concoction.

“You’re feverish.” Isabel told him, a slight catch in her voice. “An’ delirious, most like. You ain’t aware of what you’re sayin’.” She helped him to lie back in his bed and slid a wet cloth over his forehead. “You need t’rest, Mr Morgan.”

As her weight moved, Arthur used what strength he still hand to reach out and grasp her hand. Though heavy lids he saw her stop rising to her feet. “Isabel…” he sighed. He took her hand and pressed it to his chest. “Stay… please…”

For a few seconds she was tense, then her hand relaxed on his chest and her weight returned to the edge of his bed. She wrapped her hand around his and her thumb ran over his knuckles. 

“You’re alright Arthur,” he heard her say, “I ain’t goin’ no where.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur Daydreams About Isabel Wearing His Clothing
> 
> Prompted on tumblr: "wearing the other's clothes".

* * *

Finding himself the only occupant of the bed, Arthur blinked himself awake. Dawn light pierced through the threadbare curtains over the window, and outside he could hear the high pitched cries of the various eagles that made O’Creagh’s run their home. 

Slowly, he pushed himself to sit up and examined the state of the room. Clothes littered the floor, the covers were pushed back and feeling the empty space, it was still reasonably warm. He pulled on the faded black jeans he liked and buttoned them as he got to his feet. On opening the bedroom door, he kept it open with his foot and leaned on the frame, crossing his arms.

He liked mornings where he had a view like this.

Isabel, in the small kitchen of the cabin bare legged and dressed only in the blue high-collar shirt he was wearing yesterday. She clutched a small, steaming cup in her hand and peered out through the window over the sink, observing the early morning goings-on outside. 

Arthur cleared his throat, his lazy smile broadening when Isabel glanced back over her shoulder towards him. Her hair was free of it’s usual long braid and fell in soft waves down her back and around her shoulders. 

She put the mug down on the sink and shifted her weight from one hip to the other which caused her stance to change. “What’s got you smilin’ so big so early?” She asked, lifting her chin a little.

“Nothin’,” Arthur replied, “just admirin’ my shirt.” He pushed off from the door frame, “it ain’t never suited me so well.”

It looked better than good on Isabel’s lithe frame. She had the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, the collar up and the first two buttons undone, giving a tantalizing view of her neck, dipping down to her collarbone and where the hem ended, it skimmed her mid-thigh. 

Isabel’s smile grew, and she welcomed Arthur into her arms accepting the lazy kiss he pressed to her mouth. He tasted bitter coffee on her lips.

“I’m gonna need this shirt back,” Arthur murmured lifting his hands to work another button free.

“Mr Morgan,” she wriggled a little, “weren’t you just sayin’ this shirt suited me?”

“Mhm,” he drew his mouth lower, his stubble tickling her neck drawing forth a low chuckle as she arched her head back. He slid a hand inside the shirt and over her shoulder, “it does. But, we’re gonna have a problem if you insist on wearin’ it…”

“Arthur…” Isabel sighed, her hands rising into his hair,  “ _Arthur..."_

* * *

_“Arthur!”  
_

He blinked hard, falling into the humid heat of Bayou Nwa. The sound of mosquitoes buzzing around his head replaced the calm silence and mirthful laughter of his imagination. 

“Did you hear a single damn word I jus’ said?” 

Isabel sat in Valkyrie’s saddle, the horse standing reasonably close to his own. They were standing to the side of the wooden walk way that signified one of the slightly less dangerous routes through the bayou.  

The comfortable cabin and the chilly morning were gone. As was the image of Isabel in his shirt. He could still just about recall the texture of her skin under his hands, but it was a sensation that was fading fast. 

“M’sorry,” Arthur cleared his throat. The bliss he imagined was just that. His imagination. A daydream. Nothing more, and nothing less. Something he wanted. A domestic existence filled with happiness and love. An existence he only recently began to pine for. “I was…”

“Miles away.” Isabel stretched in her saddle, “now I gotta explain all over again.”

Arthur shrugged but said nothing. He hoped his expression did not betray what he was thinking about. 

“Guess you musta been thinkin’ about somethin’ important for you to zone out like that.”

 _No, not important at all._  He thought, but didn’t say. “I was jus’ thinkin’ is all.”

Isabel gave him a quizzical look, “’bout somethin’ nice, at least?”

The left corner of his mouth twitched up, “yeah. Pretty nice.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur and Isabel Kiss For The First Time

It took most of the day to dispose of the O’Driscoll corpses, though disposal was more tossing them into the bayou to keep the alligators satisfied, but once it was accomplished Arthur could feel the tension in the gang recede a little.

He checked in with those who were up for conversation making sure they were hale and whole. It was miraculous that out of all of them only a few wounds were sustained and most of them minor. 

For all their numbers, the O’Driscoll’s were terrible shots.

Isabel sustained the worst wound, one she didn’t even realise she had until the gunfire was finished and every O’Driscoll lay dead. Arthur remembered watching the colour drain from her face as she breathed hard and leaned against the wall for support. Her shirt stained red beneath her jacket and the way she left a smear on the wall when her legs gave out beneath her. 

A bullet had found its mark in her lower back during the gun fight. Shallow, and not life-threatening by any means, but bad enough that all the air in Arthur’s lungs left him and her remembered yelling for Swanson as he hoisted Isabel up into his arms. 

Morphine administered, Swanson was able to retrieve the bullet with relative ease and dress the injury. Arthur gave Isabel his bed to rest, closing out the rest of the world to try and keep he noise to a minimum while he sat vigil. Her breathing was deep. He filled the time writing in his journal and sketching. Sketching the scenes he had witnessed. Sketching her. The slope of her nose, the curve of her lips, the way her eyelashes fanned over her cheeks. 

Another person he cared about injured on his watch. Perhaps if he wasn’t so stupid the O’Driscoll’s never would have found them. Maybe if he’d been more alert, the attack could have been avoided entirely. The world was closing in around him and the gang. Civilization, O’Driscoll’s, the Pinkertons, and Cornwall. Soon, they would be surrounded on all sides with no where left to run.

Trapped.

Dawn the next day was when Isabel awoke. Arthur was there, ready at her bedside having dozed on-and-off through the night in a chair. He sat on the very edge of the bed, graphite stained hand on hers.

“Hey there,” he murmured to her watching her eyes openly and focus in on her surroundings. She winced when she moved, her left hand immediately going to the lower portion of her body.

“O’Driscoll’s?” she asked, heaving a breath with the effort it took her to sit up. “Kieran? Is everyone–”

“They’re fine,” Arthur placed both hands on her shoulders. “They’re all fine, Isa– Miss Ashwood.” 

“Good…” a brief smile came to her lips. “Good.” Arthur pushed her hair back away from her face. “Damn, I feel like I was gored by a boar…” 

“Close,” said Arthur with a brief smile. “You was shot. Not badly. Swanson says you’ll be alright.”

“Guess that’ll teach me for comin’ outta cover.” She chuckled a little, “I’m glad everyone else is okay.”

“Everyone except…”

Isabel’s eyes dropped. “Kieran… yeah. God, that poor kid. I liked ‘im, y’know? He was… nice. Too nice for them O’Driscoll’s. He deserved a better end than that.” 

“That he did.” 

They sat in respectful silence. Arthur remembered Kieran saving his life. Remembered them going fishing. He was a good man. Kinder than most. Just wanted to tend to horses and live a peaceful life. Getting involved with the O’Driscoll’s was just asking for trouble. 

Another person he failed to protect. 

He started from his thoughts when Isabel’s hand came up to cradle his cheek in a gesture that was more intimate than friendly, and made his chest tighten. She turned his head so they were looking at each other and the space between them was only inches.

“I see I stole your bed.”

Arthur quirked his mouth in a crooked smile. “You needed it more. At least it’s a bit quieter up here.”

“Thank you, Arthur.” Isabel leaned in and kissed his cheek. She lingered there, lips brushing his skin when she spoke. “You’re always lookin’ out for me. Ever since we met.” Her breath trembled when she exhaled and Arthur hoped she didn’t hear him swallow. Having her this close… it was almost more than he could bear. “I… I hope you know…”

He turned his head to see her better and the end of his nose bumped hers. Her breath mingled with his, and without thinking Arthur closed the space between them. The tightness in his chest only grew in response to his action, and a nervousness better suited to a young, inexperienced man made his leg start to jump. Isabel replied with a kiss of her own, reciprocating with a coy softness that was unexpected.

Reality hit him like a runaway train and Arthur pulled back, eyes wide and panic setting in. What had he done?  _What had he done?!_ He couldn’t  _do_ this again. Not after Eliza. Not after Mary. How could he condone these feelings he was experiencing? How could he allow himself these desires when everything around him was falling apart? More than that, how could he ever imagine that someone like Isabel wanted him? She was brightness in a dark world, and deserved a goddamn fairy tale prince. Not a filthy outlaw. Not a killer. A thief. Not  _him._

 _“_ Sorry, I–” he started. Stopped. Clenched his eyes closed and his hands into fists in his lap. “I should–”

“Arthur,” Isabel’s tone was gentle, not scolding and that alone surprised him. Her hand at his cheek moved to curl his hair around his ear. “I don’t mind.” He met her gaze. Her half-hooded, dark eyes with the rings of green in them that fascinated and enchanted him. 

She kissed him this time, her fingers sliding up into his hair. Her lips drew him in, causing him to all but crumble before her. He held her jaw, hungrily devouring her kiss and embracing the coiling, excited sensation bubbling away inside him. There was less coy softness in this. It was as though she was trying to convey to him how she felt through gestures, rather than words. 

Isabel wanted him? How could she? After all he had done? After everything she had witnessed him do? After all the things about him she knew? All the things she  _didn’t_  know. How could she want him like this? Oh, he didn’t want to question it, but it was something he couldn’t help. It was too good to be true. Something would come along and steal this moment of joy away, surely. That was what always happened. Everything good in his life that was his and his alone got taken from him, or left him. How could he open himself up to that pain again?

He was though. Willingly. Selfishly. With every moment the kiss lengthened, with every breath one of them stole, he was opening himself up to more pain and hurt. Falling into it. Welcoming it.

He was a fool.

“Isabel–” Arthur broke the kiss, breathing hard and pressing his forehead to hers in an attempt to gain some clarity. He ran his thumb along her reddened bottom lip, ignoring the desire to kiss her again. “I–”

 _“Arthur!”_ Dutch’s voice rang out fro the ground floor and outside, it sounded like. Immediately, Arthur was on alert like a dog being called by its master.  _“Get down here, son! We need to talk about this trolley station job!”_

“I’m sorry,” he turned to Isabel, “I have to…”

“You go,” she smiled, and it was genuine. He expected to see disappointment, annoyance, not warmth. “I should rest up, anyway.”

Arthur nodded, “yeah… yeah. You need t’rest.” He got to his feet and paced a little to work out that nervous jumpy feeling in his legs. “I’ll let Hosea and the Reverend know you’re up. They’ll wanna check on you.”

“Okay,” she lay back in bed, pulling the blanket up from where it had pooled in her lap. 

At the door, Arthur looked back at her wrestling with himself and whether or not he should say something. He bit the inside of his mouth. What could he say? Should he try and apologize again? Isabel was already settled back into the thin pillow and had her eyes closed. He chose to stay silent on the topic. Whatever they needed to say could wait until her strength returned. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur Feels Conflicted About His Feelings For Mary, And Bumps Into Isabel in Saint Denis
> 
> (Follows their first kiss).  
> Prompted on tumblr: "here, take my blanket."

Arthur walked the streets of Saint Denis without thought or purpose. He needed to clear his head after meeting Mary again. After dealing with her father again. After the fiasco with the broach, and the trip to the theater, and then leaving her at the trolley station with… With what? A promise of possibility? Was it a promise? Or was it more of a lie he was telling himself? A lie they were telling themselves?

God, it was hard. Being around her, hearing from her again had brought up so many confusing and conflicting emotions he didn’t want to deal with. Things that raged within him putting him at war with himself. How could she do that to him so easily? Come to him and ask,  _beg_ , for his help knowing he could never refuse her… And then… to ask if there was still a chance?

Mary… Mary, how could she…?  _Why_  would she…? Was there still a chance for them? After everything?  _Despite_  everything? Everything he was? After all, he was everything she abhorred in the world. He didn’t give the life up for her years ago… What about now? With success so close at hand? If this bank job went off without a hitch and they got away with the money Dutch anticipated that would be it. A new life would be within his grasp. 

A new life… A  _peaceful_  life. With Mary?

It was a possibility.

Someone yelled a warning to him loud enough that it shocked Arthur from his thoughtful revere. He stumbled back onto the pavement, narrowly avoiding a passing carriage. He bumped into someone behind him, uttered an apology and glanced around, trying to get his bearings. Saint Denis was too big, too dirty, and too…  _civilized_  for him. Every street led to more streets. More people. More. More. Always more! He longed for the simplicity of the West. The open plains and fields. Not seeing another soul for miles. 

The sooner he and the others left Saint Denis behind them, the better.

On the opposite side of the street he saw a horse hitched and the rider standing at its side, checking the girth of their saddle. The horse he recognized, the rider too, and for a moment his tormented minded was soothed by that sense of familiarity. He was off across the street almost without thinking.

“Isa–” he caught himself, “Miss Ashwood.” Isabel turned her head to his voice. A brief smile appeared and she returned her focus to Valkyrie’s saddle. “What’re you doin’ in Saint Denis?”

“Seein’ a friend.” She answered, grabbing something from a saddle bag and draping it over Valkyrie’s saddle. “He’s… a bit eccentric. Given me a commission to go find some rare orchids for some Countess or somethin’ or other.” She began to buckle her saddlebag. Arthur ran his teeth along his bottom lip. Something wasn’t right, she seemed…  _off_  somehow. “An’ yourself, Mr Morgan?”

“Similar thing.” Arthur replied, sliding his thumbs into the front of his gun belt. He rocked back on his heels. “Meetin’ a friend.”

“That woman you was with at the trolley station?” Isabel didn’t lift her head when she asked her question, a fact Arthur found disconcerting… Or at least would have done, if her question hadn’t stunned him so much that his thoughts all scattered.

It took him a few seconds to regain his composure. As he did, Isabel continued to make her checks on Valkyrie’s gear. “You been followin’ me, Miss Ashwood?” he asked, more brusque than he anticipated. “You spyin’ on me?” He stepped towards her, pulling himself to his full height and towering slightly. He was… It was hard to say  _what_  he was. Outraged? No. Hurt? No, not that. Embarrassed, perhaps was more accurate. And maybe insulted that he was being questioned. “Can’t a man spend time with a woman an’ it not be a point of gossip?”

“Oh, put your teeth away,” Isabel bit back, her lips curling back into a snarl. For the first time she looked at him, and her brown eyes were almost black under the rim of her hat.  _That_  he should have expected. She wasn’t one to back down. He knew that well enough. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Arthur’s shoulders relaxed, more because he forced them than because of any true sense of calmness coming over him. His chest was still tight with some kind of bubbling anger, and he wasn’t sure if that anger was directed at Isabel, himself, or Mary. 

“I was ridin’ by when I saw the two o’you. You clasp the hands of all the women friends you got so intently?” Isabel walked to the other side of Valkyrie, giving the horse a brief stroke on the nose. Arthur followed with his eyes but remained rooted to the spot. 

“It weren’t nothin’.” Arthur said flatly. “Nothin’ worth mentionin’, at least.”

“O’course.” Isabel pulled the material still draped over Valkyrie’s saddle off it and began to fold. “Here, you take my blanket.” She handed it to Arthur over Valkyrie’s saddle when it was folded. “Please.”

He frowned, “why?”

“I ain’t gonna need it where I’m goin’.” She climbed up into the saddle. 

“Where are you goin’ t’look for orchids?”

“These are some special rare ones. They only grow down in Big Valley.” Explained Isabel guiding Valkyrie away from the hitching post. “That’s my summer blanket, I ain’t got no need of it down there where it’s cold. If you could take it back to Shady Belle I’d be mighty grateful. The less baggage the better.”

“How long you plan on bein’ gone?” Arthur asked, standing back a little. He folded his arms over his chest, clutching the blanket to him. 

“A few days. Maybe a bit longer, depends how successful I am findin’ these flowers.”

“Is it worth it?”

“Five hundred dollars seems worth it to me.”

“Five hundred?!” Arthur repeated, his eyes widening. “For  _orchids_?!”

“Rare orchids.” Isabel smirked, “they only grow in that area and… Well, Algy is… he ain’t much of an outdoors man, and I doubt there’s many other people would be willin’ to trek around that country lookin’ for flowers. So…” She shrugged, “it’s easy, good money.”

“Hm.” Arthur nodded, “you be careful. Big Valley, that’s O’Driscoll country.”

Isabel’s smile grew grim. “Don’t you worry, Mr Morgan. Any O’Driscoll comes near me his momma will feel his death in her grave.”

Sometimes, Isabel worried him. She wasn’t as reckless as Mrs Adler, but there was something about her… a  _spark_  that made Arthur worry that she would run headlong into danger at the first opportunity, if it meant raining down retribution on those who hurt her. 

He could have said something.  _Should_  have said something. Insisted he accompany her or she take someone else with her, for protection. For company. For… for his own piece of mind. 

He didn’t. Instead he watched her ride down the Saint Denis street after bidding her goodbye and safe journey. He watched until she and Valkyrie disappeared around a corner. He watched until he couldn’t hear her voice in his ears any more. Then, without thinking about it, he pressed his face into the blanket in his arms and inhaled.

It smelled of her. And all thoughts of Mary, vanished. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur Seeks Out Isabel When She's Been Gone For Too Long. And Agonizes Over His Feelings.
> 
> Prompted on tumblr: "small kiss to a big kiss".

When Isabel didn’t return to Shady Belle after three days, Arthur began to worry. At first, it was a slight niggle at the back of his mind. An itch he couldn’t scratch. By the fifth day, that itch was more pronounced. Pain, like a headache, pounding over his left eye. He tried to ignore it and go about business. Isabel was capable. He didn’t  _need_  to worry.

When it surpassed a week, the worry was more a constant dread. A dread that clawed at his mind and made swipes at his stomach. Each time he heard horses hooves, he ran to see if it was her and he hated the disappointment and nauseating worry that washed over him when it wasn’t.

He made up his mind to go and find her himself. Things were…  _strange_ between them when he saw her in Saint Denis. Strange and…  _strained._  He knew why. He knew almost as soon as she was gone from his sight. He kissed her after the O’Driscoll attack on Shady Belle. He kissed her, and she kissed him back. And then… then, he spent his time avoiding her like a coward. Not wanting to confront what he had done, and how he felt towards her. So he fled from her and his feelings, and straight into Mary.

Of course, Isabel had seen them. The earnest conversation at the trolley car - what must she have thought when she saw them? More over, what must she have thought when Arthur snapped at her questions. Questions that were natural and normal. This was exactly the reason he avoided her. He would only hurt her, after all. That was all he was good at. All he was good  _for._ He could hurt, and kill, and rob. He was a killer. There was no softness in him. Whatever Isabel saw in him was something Arthur could not see in himself. She deserved better than him. So did Mary, for that matter, but he was selfish. Wanting and pining for them both. Making promises to Mary. Promises he could never keep. After all, if the bank job went off without any trouble, could he  _really_  see himself settling down? Would Mary  _honestly_  want that?

Arthur didn’t know.

The more he thought about it, the more confused and twisted his mind became. He tried to think forward. Isabel was his main concern at that moment. Isabel. Her whereabouts. Her safety.

He left without a word as he often did and began the long ride to Big Valley. He hoped to be able to pick up Isabel’s trail when he was in the right area and perhaps ask a few travelers if they’d seen her if he met any on the way.

Riding through the night, passed through Strawberry just after dawn and crossed into Big Valley. In Strawberry Arthur asked the only person he thought Isabel might do business with if he’d seen her; the butcher. A portly man, chopping up venison with a meat cleaver, he did two things.

First, confirmed that he had seen and done business with Isabel recently. And second, recently turned out to only be two days before. Isabel was alive, and hunting - which was good. The nagging worry Arthur was experiencing retreated somewhat with that knowledge.

Out in the open, he followed tracks of deer herds, easing hunting for someone of Isabel’s experience. The herds of deer led him to familiar snare traps that Isabel made for catching rabbits and other small game. From there, he was able to observe broken twigs, and disturbed leaf litter in among trees and thick bushes some larger animals used for grazing. After that, it was just a case of finding the most likely place Isabel was to camp. Somewhere safe, hidden, off the main track. Away from prying eyes, but also from potential predators.

He found Isabel’s camp after an hour of so. Set up in what remained of a moonshiners distillery, she was protected from view and from the elements in a copse of trees. Her tent was simple, and disguised with tree fronds helping it blend into the foliage around it.

Arthur hitched Juno to a nearby tree and went to investigate the site. There were pelts rolled and bundled together inside Isabel’s tent, and a few herbs all bound with string in bunches. What remained of the fire from the night before was all ash and dust. Arthur had no other choice but to sit, and wait. He knew if he left she was likely to return while he was out looking for her.

While he waited, he found himself beginning to dread seeing Isabel again. He would have to explain so much to her. Explain, and apologize. He didn’t want to think what she must have thought of him now. Kissing her like that, only to avoid her. And then for her to see him with Mary. In their conversation so intense and earnest… It was no wonder Isabel was off with him when he came across her shortly after seeing Mary off at the trolley station. It was no wonder she snapped at him and would barely look at him.

If the roles were reversed…

Arthur didn’t want to think about it.

He busied himself by pacing and pushing his hands through his hair over and over again, trying to smooth it down and neaten it. He didn’t keep a mirror on him, but could only imagine what a state he looked after riding all night. Juno watched him from where she was hitched. She was judging him, just as he was judging himself.

By mid-afternoon was when Arthur heard the sounds of hoof beats approaching the copse and the campsite within. His hand lingered by the holster at his hip through sheer instinct, but relaxed when he saw the head of Valkyrie pushing through the trees, and Isabel at her side, leading her.

Shocked filtered through Isabel’s expression when she saw him, and she dropped Valkyrie’s reins. A quick glance over her, Arthur saw she was dirty, and sweaty, but looked uninjured.

Isabel walked further into the clearing. There was a tug in Arthur’s chest, like a chord trying to yank him towards her.

“You…” Isabel’s brows furrowed, “you’re here.”

“Yeah.”

“…Why?”

_Because I owe you an explanation. Because I was worried about you. Because I care about you. Because you deserve better than this._

Of all the things Arthur wanted to say, he could not give air to them. Instead, he stood without speaking, the silence building and the tension between them growing heavier, and heavier until it was like a crushing weight above him. He wanted to explain, but the words… He could never find the right words!

“Because…” Arthur said, cracking the silence like ice on a lake. Instinct took over. He couldn’t  _say_  what he wanted. Not  _yet_  at least, but perhaps he could show her. Try and put across through actions what he struggled to say with words. 

He closed the space between them in a few strides, took Isabel’s face between his hands, and pressed a kiss to her mouth. Light, not forceful, or demanding, but enough that it could be considered a kiss. A small kiss. A brief kiss. A kiss Arthur pulled away from with a stomach churning uncertainty roaring about in his head. What if that only made things worse?

Releasing Isabel’s face, he lowered his hands, but not his eyes. He held her gaze, trying to see and understand the emotions filtering through her. She looked… surprised, that he expected. But beyond that… Beyond the initial shock of his being there, and his brief kiss… He couldn’t work out what else she was feeling, or thinking. Arthur wasn’t entirely sure what  _he_  was thinking either, beyond the desire to kiss her again. A desire only made stronger by how close she was, and by how her lips were slightly parted. 

Moving more slowly this time, Arthur curved one large hand around Isabel’s waist, and slid the other up over her neck to cup her jaw. He tilted her head back, ran his thumb along her jaw bone and released a long breath through his nose. He inched closer, tilting his head to one side so they didn’t bump noses. He waited for Isabel to refuse, to push him away or tell him ‘no’. But no refusal came. No sound. No struggle. Nothing, except the sound of her breath quickening.

Arthur kissed her for a second time. Slightly harder than before, and spurred on by the subtle movement of Isabel’s lips against his. He slipped his hand back into her hair and drew her body closer to his, letting his hand slide down to her hip. Isabel held him by the upper arms. Her mouth opened a fraction, and Arthur was lost in an instant. One of her hands was suddenly enmeshed within his hair, her other was on his chest, fingers curled into the cloth of his shirt. Arthur was sure if there had been a desk or dresser, he would have pushed her against it, but as there was nothing to use as support, they stood. Embraced, kissing, exchanging tiny parts of themselves with every second their connection lengthened. 

He hoped she understood. He  _hoped_  she knew this was real. He was choosing her. Mary was the past. She was his past, but not his present, not his future. Deep down, he knew that. Deep down, Mary knew it, too. It would never have worked between them. It didn’t then, it wouldn’t now. But this… this… connection he had with Isabel… Maybe it was possible for something to come of this. Something to happen with  _this._  If it wasn’t too late. If he hadn’t screwed it up already.

Cradling Isabel’s face in his hands, Arthur broke the kiss. They were both breathing hard, and he saw a deep flush in Isabel’s cheeks. The kind of flush he’d seen before, when she’d laughed herself to tears. 

“I missed you,” Arthur whispered, his voice hoarse. “I ain’t the most articulate, but I wanna explain somethings to you.”

Isabel nodded, opening her eyes and peering up at him, “okay.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur is Kissed in Front of the Gang By Isabel
> 
> Prompted on tumblr: 'public kiss'.

Arthur knew the sound of Valkyrie’s hoof beats almost as well as he knew the sound of Juno’s. So as soon as he heard that heavy Ardennes pace lolloping down the path to Shady Belle, he was on his feet and striding down the front steps to greet Valkyrie and her rider. 

The horse slowed to a walk as she passed the entrance walls. Slung over her haunches was the carcass of some kind of mountain goat, and a pile of pelts from different animals. Isabel showed the strain of the last few days hunting on in her dirty clothes and the smears on her face, but she mustered up a smile when she met Arthur’s gaze.

“Hey,” she lengthened Valkyrie’s reins and pulled her feet from the stirrups while Arthur led the horse to the hitching post and secured her there next to Taima and Maggie. Arthur lifted his arms to offer Isabel assistance is getting out of the saddle, assistance she accepted - though they both knew she didn’t need the help. 

Once both feet were on the ground, Arthur made a quick visual check for any injuries or wounds. His concern satisfied, he welcomed the kiss Isabel pressed to his mouth in greeting. It was still something to get used to… After all, this warmth and familiarity was something he never thought to experience again. Plus, it was still so new to enjoy this with Isabel, and to display the affection openly in front of the gang… He could almost hear the gossip already.

“Y’okay?” 

“Tired.” Isabel shrugged. “But successful in my endeavors. I’m gonna hand all this in to Pearson and then clean up.”

“Let me.” Arthur quickly went to the back of Valkyrie and heaved the carcass onto his shoulder. He ignored the slightly reproving look Isabel gave him and waited for her to grab the pelts. Once they were secured in her arms, they walked in tandem to the supply wagon.

The looks they received from members of the gang were a mix. There was surprise in some faces, a certain smugness in the expressions of Hosea and Lenny. Mary-Beth grinned and giggled with Tilly, hiding behind her hand as she whispered to her. Charles lifted a single eyebrow and gave a nod when Arthur caught his eye. All the looks added to Arthur’s discomfort. Perhaps kissing Isabel was something to be saved for private.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur and Isabel Begin to Get Intimate, But Arthur Stops When Memories and Guilt Surface
> 
> Prompted on tumblr: 'Moving Around While Kissing, Stumbling Over Things, Pushing Each Other Back Against The Wall/Onto The Bed'

Micah’s voice grated on Arthur’s last nerve. Accompanied by Bill guffawing like a sycophantic fool, it was a wonder Arthur hadn’t shot the both of them yet. He didn’t know  _why_  he agreed to the small stagecoach job Micah mentioned. Probably because of his stubborn pride, and it was something that got him out of Shady Belle and away from all the tension. 

The job wasn’t hard, and the take wasn’t worth putting up with Micah and Bill for an afternoon. It definitely wasn’t worth it when Micah began making comments about Isabel and the other women in the camp. How they were  _“unwilling to fuck you even if they had a gun to their head”_. That was his exact phrasing, and it put Arthur’s teeth on edge just to think about it. He didn’t like Micah thinking about  _any_ of the women in camp in such a way, let alone Isabel. 

He must have given his inner feelings away because Micah spent the time waiting for the stage and the ride back to Shady Belle talking about Isabel, and what he wanted to do to her. None of which was pleasant to imagine or listen to. Not that Arthur could really say much about it. He and Isabel agreed to keep things between them as private as possible. He didn’t want to paint a target on her back and they were already the topic of camp gossip - no need to add more fuel to that fire.

As Micah crowed to whomever was nearby about the success of their job with Bill garnishing the story with extravagant details, Arthur went into the old, dilapidated building. It was late-evening. Pearson had served the evening meal and most everyone was outside, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the company of each other. Arthur was hungry, and planned to join them once he was changed and a little calmer. 

The stairs creaked beneath his feet as he ascended and he glanced through the broken wall boards into the room where Abigail, John and Jack were staying. It was empty. In his own room, he closed the door and leaned against it, releasing a long, heavy sigh when the world was finally shut out. 

“That’s a big sigh.” Arthur opened one eye and peered to the other end of the small room to where his bed was. Isabel was sitting on it, a closed book between her, and her dark hair loose from its usual braid. The lamp in his room illuminated her with a soft, haloed light which seemed to move with her when she rose to her feet and began to approach him. “Long day?” She put her book on the table covered with his map.

“Micah an’ Bill.” Arthur said. He removed his hat and shucked off his jacket. “It ain’t worth talkin’ about.”

Isabel smiled, “then don’t talk.” She closed the space between them, sliding her fingers beneath his shirt collar and rising onto her toes to kiss his forehead. Arthur automatically offered his temple to her affection, his hands finding their home on her hips. The kiss on his forehead was followed by several more, on the bridge of his nose, the end of his nose, his cheeks, the corners of his mouth. Soft, feathery kisses that made his skin tingle pleasantly and his stomach knot like a young, inexperienced man with his first love. 

In private, Isabel gave her affection with such freedom and unabashed joy, Arthur wasn’t sure how best to react. He didn’t know if he should reciprocate with as much willingness, or if he should let her take the lead, and remain more stoic. He was still finding his feet with her. Mary was never  _hugely_  affectionate towards him, and her upbringing meant that it was Arthur’s responsibility to offer his arm, or initiate a kiss. Isabel… Isabel was so different, and unique to many women he’d met. She kept him on his toes, that was for sure.

When she finally kissed him on the mouth, her lips molding seamlessly against his, Arthur all but melted. It was amazing and a little alarming how such a simple gesture could so easily cause the stresses of the day to slough off him. All the lewd and distasteful things Micah said became nothing more than white noise and Arthur’s tiredness receded. Pressing his hands into Isabel’s hips, Arthur stepped further into his room, away from the door. He held her steady, his voice rising into an appreciative murmur when she parted her lips and the kiss deepened. 

She rose her arms, draping them around his neck and shoulders, stumbling back when Arthur moved them into the room a few more steps. Isabel hit the the dresser, and a few objects toppled on the shelves. He squeezed her hip in one hand, the other snatching at the fabric of her shirt and pulling it up from where it was tucked in. Dragging her away from the dresser, Arthur caught himself before he toppled back onto the table covered in ammunition, knives, and arrows. The edge of it pressed into his lower back, and Isabel pressed her body against his.

Burying one hand in Isabel’s hair, Arthur guided her to tilt her head back. His lips on her neck, he grabbed one of her thighs and pushed against her; the two of them stumbling back until they clattered into the table covered with Arthur’s map. They were both laughing, Arthur’s muffled by Isabel’s throat under his mouth as he lavished her skin with kisses and soft bites. He hoisted her up onto the table, slotting between her legs. Isabel’s fingers made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, undoing the top five before Arthur even realised she was doing it. He yanked his suspenders down his arms, eyes squeezing closed when Isabel guided his lips back to hers, and the kiss she greeted him with was searing and desperate.

“Is–” Arthur groaned against his mouth.  _This_  was not what he had in mind for when he returned to Shady Belle. In fact  _this_  was not something had in mind with Isabel for some time. His gun belt hit the floor with a loud ‘thud’ - loud enough that it shocked Arthur away from Isabel’s lips to check it wasn’t someone at the door. 

As he peered over his shoulder, waiting for another potential knock, all he could hear was Isabel breathing fast beside him and his heart crashing in his ears. His cock was hard, and for the first time in… he didn’t know how long, Arthur wanted to  _enjoy_  himself. It wasn’t something he did. He wasn’t like Lenny, or other  members of the gang who would go with a girl for a night… But right then, with Isabel and the heat between them, he wanted to.

“Everythin’ okay there, handsome?” Isabel ran her fingers back through Arthur’s hair, bringing him back to the present and to her. Satisfied that there was no-one demanding his attention, slid Isabel down from the table and led her the small distance towards his rather simple, and sad looking bed. She deserved more than this. More than a rough cot and blanket. More than a broken down old plantation house. More than him. But it was all he could offer.  _He_  was all he could offer. And, for some unknown reason, she decided he was enough for her. He was what she wanted.

She sat, and he stood, curling his hands around her face and kissing her soundly. The frantic need of before cooled somewhat. He did not want to rush this. Her.  _Them_. He was out of practice and, he realised with some amusement,  _worried_. 

“I’m fine,” Arthur brushed his nose against hers, back and forth enjoying the small hum of contentment and appreciation he heard from her. He undid the knot in her neckerchief and let the material fall to the floor. Perching one knee on the edge of the cot, sharing soft kisses and breaths that were starting to quake, Arthur unbuttoned the top few buttons of Isabel’s shirt. Her exposed skin was flushed red, and she lay back winding her arms up over his shoulders and beneath his own shirt. Her palms lay flat on the top of his back, moving to push the material off him. He rose one arm, then the other, laughing at the struggle Isabel had to remove the garment from him.

Her legs parted invitingly, Arthur settled over her, wrapping both arms over Isabel’s back. Her kisses were heated, and she nipped at his lower lip while her hands explored. He could feel her touching him, mapping the muscles in his back, the dip of his spine and the broad stretch of his shoulders. She twisted his hair in her fingers, swallowing an involuntary moan when Arthur rocked his hips forward to grant himself some kind of respite from the confines of his jeans. 

“Arthur,” Isabel murmured, arching her head back and biting her lip into her mouth to muffle her own groan. Her hips moved, meeting Arthur’s slow and steady rhythm and the staggered sigh that escaped her only spurred him on,  _“oh God, Arthur…”_ It sounded like she was whining. Her blunt fingernails pressed into the top of his back, and she arched up into him, her body quivering.

Burying his face into the curve of her neck, Arthur rutted at a steady pace, grunting and groaning, his skin humming under Isabel’s touch and the excitement she brought out in him. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, pulling at her shirt to expose more skin to his exploring lips. He wanted to  _know_  her. To map the unknowns of her body before him, and learn them by heart. 

Her voice rang in his ears, and then another. A second voice. A woman’s. A voice from his past. Younger. Feminine. As breathless and as heated as Isabel’s was right then. A voice he knew, yet thought he had forgotten. It all flashed before his eyes. The ride to the house, and the dread that filled his whole body. The image of the two crosses. One large. One small. Their names carved in the wood by hand. 

 _Eliza Ingram_.

_Isaac Morgan._

The consequences of his actions. The actions of a young, rash, angry young man. A son he was never there for. And a woman who was still much a child herself, who became a mother to a son of an outlaw. Two deaths on his conscience. Two people who needed him, and who he failed. The blood of innocents on his hands. Lives ruined by him and his reckless, selfish behavior. 

What if the same happened again? Now? With Isabel? Could he risk it? To have another child only to potentially lose them? This life was dangerous. They were hunted at every turn and the world was closing in around them more and more each day. Could he risk a life time of danger and the burden of a child, all for a moment of bliss? What would Isabel think of him if a child was the outcome of his loving her? What would she do? What would  _he_  do?

“Arthur?”

Isabel was beneath him, her hands braced on his bare shoulders and her hair spilling out around her like a dark halo. She was beautiful. Her lips parted and reddened. Her cheeks flush with a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead, her neck and her chest. She stared at him with wide, confused eyes. Watching. Waiting.

Arthur’s stomach twisted with the regret and the guilt that now threatened to swallow him. “M’sorry.” He heaved himself up to sit and grabbed his shirt off the floor. He rose to his feet as it pulled it on over his arms, feeling small and ashamed. 

“Did I do somethin’ wrong?” Isabel’s voice was quiet and feeble, and that only served to make Arthur guilt increase. He turned and watched her button her shirt avoiding his eyes.

“No,” he went and knelt before her as she sat on the edge of his bed. “It ain’t you. You ain’t done nothin’ wrong.” He sighed and bowed his head until his forehead touched her knees. Isabel slid her fingers back through his hair. “I need t’tell you somethin’…”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur and Isabel Take a Bath Together
> 
> Prompted on tumblr: 'taking a bath together'.

Perhaps the one, single saving grace of Saint Denis was the saloon and its lavish, opulent bathroom. The tiled walls and floor, the grandiose fireplace, the bath big enough for two people to comfortably fit in. It was one of the few things Arthur enjoyed about the city when he visited. 

Steam rose in thin wisps from the water. Bubbles were thick and whatever made them released a sweet, almost too floral scent into the air. Outside, Saint Denis was dark, the saloon was lively with talk and music, but behind the closed and locked bathroom door, it was a haven of silence, calmness, and contentment.

He reclined against the back of the tub, arms outstretched on the edges and legs extended below the water’s surface. Isabel sat between his legs, her back against his chest and her hair pulled over one shoulder. The water sat around her collarbone, leaving everything from the shoulders up exposed. Not that it mattered. At that moment Arthur was more preoccupied with her fingers trickling up and down his arms, while he brushed his nose against hers.

Their relationship was a private affair. Their affection raw, and sincere. They kept things to themselves. No public arguments in camp like Abigail and John, or Dutch and Molly. What they had - whatever it was -  was theirs alone. No one else needed to interfere or have an opinion.

“Where’d you get this?” Arthur asked. His voice remained low, and slightly gruff as he tried to keep it softer to avoid disturbing the sanctuary their togetherness created as much as possible. He tapped the bridge of Isabel’s nose and ran his finger over the dent and upside-down U-shaped scar there. “You ain’t never told me.”

“It ain’t an excitin’ story.” Her sigh disturbed the water a little. Some bubbles popped. Arthur lifted one hand from the edge of the tub and ran his fingers along her shoulder. Isabel rubbed her scar. “I got kicked by a horse.”

The chuckle that escaped him was sudden and automatic. He kept any further laughter tightly contained, smiling instead. “Oh?”

“Yes.” She elbowed him gently in the ribs. “It ain’t funny! I was bloody! And my face was bruised for days after.”

“Your horse? Someone else’s?”

“A stallion I was tryin’ t’break. Was only sixteen or so at the time.” She tutted to herself, “serves me right, I guess.”

“I’m sure,” sighed Arthur. “An’ what about this one?” He pressed his lips to the curve of her neck. Isabel shivered.

“There ain’t a scar there.”

“Sure there is,” Arthur kissed her again. “Real small.” Another kiss, slightly further up her neck. “Goes all the way up,” a third kiss and a forth. He slowly made his way along her throat. “It’s a big one. I’m surprised y’missed it.”

Lifting her right arm, Isabel ran her fingers back through his hair, leaning her head to one side offering more skin to him. Arthur obliged, wrapping both arms around her and holding her body flush to his. He nuzzled and kissed her neck, relishing the giggles that spilled out of her, and the way her skin prickled beneath his touch. He began to laugh. A deep, rumbling sound that shook through him. A sound he didn’t make much any more, except in her presence.

He cupped her jaw in his palm, guided her to turn her head and silenced her with a searing, heady kiss. Kissing Isabel was…  _good._ He enjoyed it. The way her mouth felt against his, how easy she was to kiss, how readily she accepted and offered them. He liked the way her lips moved, the way she sounded, how she tasted. He could kiss Isabel in a way he never could kiss Mary. With Mary, he was always careful and there was a certain guard she kept up at all times. Isabel was different. More open and accepting. He kissed, and she kissed back. She kissed like she never wanted him to stop. She encouraged him.  _Wanted_  him. It… was still something he was growing accustomed to. 

It might be something he would never grow accustomed to. Being  _wanted_. But he liked it.

Her giggling became a pleased hum, a sigh of contentment, and she tucked his hair behind his ear, in gesture he had come to realise was one of Isabel’s small ways of showing her affection. She pulled away with a slow smile, brown eyes opening and peering up into his from beneath long eyelashes.

“We should probably put a stop t’that before anyone knocks on the door.” She gently tapped the end of his nose. 

Arthur sighed, “if y’say so.”

“I do,” Isabel sat up straighter and leaned forward, reaching for a sponge of the soap tray suspended over the tub. She passed it back to Arthur, “would you mind?”

He took it it from her, sat up and dunked it into the soapy water to wet it. As he squeezed it, he quickly kissed the nape of her neck. “Not at all.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur Tells Isabel About His Tuberculosis
> 
> Prompted on tumblr: 'Isabel realizing/being told Arthur is sick'.

“I’m sick.”

There was no other way to say it. No better way to tell Isabel the truth, other than being honest and blunt about it. Almost cruel. Arthur didn’t  _want_  to tell her this way, but it was better this… Better being stoic about it, than saying nothing. Than saying nothing and risking her life, too.

He watched her stop and lower her arms to her sides. Arms she had raised a moment ago to embrace him. Arthur swallowed. His throat was raw and thrashed from coughing, and there was a taste of blood on his tongue. He tried for so long to ignore the signs and symptoms. He put it down to the cold, the heat, the humidity… Anything, but the truth of the matter. 

“What do you mean, you’re sick?” asked Isabel, brown-green eyes narrowing a little. “What kind of sick?”

Arthur  _hated_  this. Their reunion on his return from Guarma seemed liked a dream. The excitement of it, the joy, and sheer bliss of being reunited. Now… not even a week on, and he was on the cusp of breaking her heart, and his. 

“Tuberculosis.” He said. Simple. Plain. Hard. There was no point in mincing his words

He saw the emotions filter through Isabel’s face as she slowly processed the information, and leaned on a side table for support. The shock came first. Then a brief glimmer of hopeful disbelief, until a single glance at his face told her he wasn’t joking. The widening of her eyes, the way she clasped a hand to her mouth; there was the fear, the anguish.

“So… y’see why we…” Arthur cleared his throat and shrugged under his coat, “why this… I-it can’t go on.” His heart and stomach clenched tight inside him and a sharp pain tore through his chest and right down through his feet. 

“I… I didn’t…” Isabel stared at the ground. Her eyes were open, but not really looking. “Arthur… I’m–”

“Don’t say yer sorry.” He cut her off with more aggression than he intended. “I ain’t worth feelin’ sorry for. An’ I don’t want no pity!”

“I wasn’t gonna…” Isabel started and stopped. As she straightened, Arthur saw her square her shoulders and inhale. “When did you find out?”

“Not long ago.” He shrugged, “I ain’t told no one. But you… You deserve t’know, on account of…” Thinking about that night made him ache all over again. One night. One blissful, perfect night was all they got… And now this. Something more than Pinkertons and O’Driscolls and old loves that neither of them could fight, or shoot, or pay off. “I don’t want you gettin’ sick, too.”

“Tough.” Snorted Isabel.

“Excuse me?” 

“If you think I’m gonna let this beat either you or me, you got another thing comin’.” Isabel planted her hands on her hips. “There are ways t’fight it, Arthur. Things we can do. Things we can–”

“Isabel…”

“Don’t  _‘Isabel’_  me. I ain’t one to give up without a fight. And I ain’t known you to give up so easy, neither.”

Isabel’s tenacity was something Arthur admired. Something he always admired. Her tenacity, her strong will, her determination, but even he knew this was just for show. Underneath it all, she was scared. There was a faint tremor in her voice, and the way her eyes were glassy as she looked at him were proof enough. She wasn’t one to give up without a fight, neither was he - that was true, but this wasn’t something they could fight. This was already inside him. Already killing him. It might have already taken hold of her, as well. 

“I’ve spent my whole life waitin’ for you,” Isabel walked towards him and clasped his hands in hers when she was close enough. Arthur found he had neither the will, or the strength to pull away. “I don’t intend for that to slip through my fingers on account of some illness.”

Arthur stared down at their hands. Her knuckles were white where she was holding on so tightly, and he could see her body trembling a little. Slowly, she slid one hand out of his and lifted it to cradle his face. She guided him to lift his head so they were looking at each other. 

“I’ll be strong for the both of us, if I have t’be… But I’ll fight God or the Devil himself before I lose you.” The hardness in her expression was gone, replaced by a softer vulnerability, and a sad smile. “Don’t doubt me on that.”

He didn’t doubt her, but even so… He was a dead man walking. There was no hope for him. No cure. No chance. He was on borrowed time, they both knew it. Even if Isabel believed what she was saying  _now_ , there was no chance she would  _keep_  believing it as he deteriorated and the proof of this wasting illness was right in front of her eyes. It didn’t matter how much he loved her, or how much she loved him, this sickness would take him eventually - and he deserved it. This was a fitting way for him to die. Weak and feeble, a shadow of his former self, as much as Dutch was a shadow of his former self.

“Isabel,” Arthur sighed, and leaned into her palm. Isabel closed what space that remained between them and touched her forehead to his. Arthur closed his eyes. He didn’t want to face the inevitable end alone, although that was what he deserved. To die forgotten and weak, while Isabel lived her life on, happily with someone who deserved her. “Stubborn.”

They were fooling themselves. That was the simple truth. Isabel’s insistence on fighting God and Devil might have been true, but it was a fool’s truth. There was no fighting fate, and this illness was Arthur’s fate. 

Hard as it was and would be, they would each have to face the truth eventually.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur And Isabel Indulge in Serious Pillowtalk
> 
> Prompted on tumblr: 'pillowtalk'.

Arthur placed a hand on Isabel’s bare, sweat soak back listening to her chase her breath and watching the rise-and-fall of his hand where it rest. His own body trembled a little, his mind still fuzzy around the edges as he came down from that ecstasy she brought out in him.

“Y’okay?” he moved closer, sweeping her hair off the nape of her neck and stroking down her spine. Isabel gave a small nod, her fingers still tense and clasped in the pillows at the top of the bed. He kissed her shoulder and nuzzled the side of her head. Her breathing began to even out. She relaxed her fingers and flopped unceremoniously onto her front with a contented hum.

Chuckling, Arthur gathered up the blankets that were kicked to the foot of the bed and pulled them up, covering the two of them in a flimsy layer to maintain some weak attempt at modesty. Before he could say anything to her, Isabel propped herself up on an elbow and kissed him, threading her fingers through his hair. Arthur rolled onto his back guiding Isabel with him and cradled her to his chest, drawing the tips of his fingers up and down her back. She broke the kiss and shifted further up the bed so she could rest beside him, rather than on his chest. 

Arthur curled an arm around her shoulders and stared at the ceiling. His mind and body were once more in tune with each other, and the tight sensation in his chest was back. He could hear himself wheezing with each breath and feel it, too. He didn’t want to focus on that. Not when he had Isabel beside him, and the sound of her voice rising and moaning in his ears.

“M’sorry if that was–”

“It was great,” Isabel leaned up on her elbow again and gazed down at him, her hair spilling over one shoulder. “Perfect.”

Arthur snorted, “I imagine it was far from that.” He sighed heavily, his chest constricting with the exhalation, “it’s… y’know…”

“Arthur,” Isabel shook her head. “There ain’t no need to explain.” She kissed his lips and settled beside him. She placed one hand on his chest and Arthur held it in his. He began circling his thumb on her skin enjoying the comfortable, warm silence.

He began to think Isabel was asleep until she spoke after a long time. “We could run away t’gether.”

“Isabel…” Arthur closed his eyes.

“Go somewhere new. Somewhere warm an’ dry. Somewhere no one knows us.Somewhere you can rest and get well…”

“Run away?” Arthur repeated, turning his head to look at her.

“Why not?” Isabel rose onto her elbow. “With the money from my Pa… We could go to California and get a place. A little homestead. Somethin’ small and…” There must have been an expression on Arthur’s face because Isabel began to trail with no input from him. 

“An’ what about the others?” asked Arthur, “I couldn’t just leave ‘em. Tilly, Abigail, Jack, Sadie– even John… What kind of man would I be if I ran off an’ left without at least  _tryin’_ to get them out?”

The silence that followed was not an angry one, or tense. It carried on that same soft atmosphere as before. A thoughtfulness and consideration filtered through Isabel’s expression as she reached across and curled Arthur’s hair behind his ear. She cradled his face and stroked his cheek with her thumb beneath his eye. She offered a small, resolute smile. “An’ you say you ain’t a good man, Arthur Morgan…” She kissed him again, “you’re one o’the best I’ve ever known.”

She lay down beside him releasing a long sigh and stretching her arm out over his chest. Taken aback by her comment, Arthur remained silent. He kissed her forehead and held her closer in both arms. His chest swelled with the modicum of pride he allowed himself to feel.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur Must Leave Isabel To Accompany What Remains of the Gang on the Final Train Job
> 
> Prompted on tumblr: "war's end or goodbye kiss".

Arthur waited as long as he dared. 

He was awake long before dawn, and lay in the quiet cabin beside Isabel listening to her breathing and waiting for the first rays of sunlight to break through the threadbare curtains. Birds sang a chorus even before the light appeared. Arthur didn’t want to move until he knew he had to. He wanted to enjoy these last moments, alone with the woman he loved, before he joined Dutch and what remained of the gang at Beaver Hollow.

One last job, Dutch said. But then, as Arthur had bitterly come to realise in recent months and weeks, Dutch said  _a lot_  of things that weren’t true. Dutch manipulated, lied, and cheated his way through life. Using those around him, just as he had used Arthur for all those years.

Not any more. 

Arthur was not going to blindly follow him any longer. Never again would he be taken in by Dutch’s twisted words.  _Loyalty_. Dutch always parroted at he and John. What was Dutch loyal to, except himself? 

 _Be loyal to what matters._  Arthur told John after they blew up the bridge. What mattered to John was Abigail and little Jack. And Isabel mattered to Arthur. He had something that mattered now. More than Dutch, more than the dregs of a family that had fallen to pieces. 

After this job, after making sure John, Abigail and Jack all got out safely, that would be the end of it. Money or no money, he would leave Dutch to his fate, and he would come back here, to the cabin that once belonged to Hamish Sinclair, and back to Isabel. From there, who knew? As long as they were together it didn’t matter.

Arthur waited until the sun was peeking over the mountains that surrounded O’Creagh’s Run before he stirred and rose. He observed Isabel asleep beside him and pulled the blankets up to cover her bare shoulder to keep out some of the chill. Brushing her hair out of her face, he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. Something inside him twisted so tight it hurt to breathe. The idea that this might be the last time he saw her if things went south…

He leaned over her and kissed her cheek, “I love you.”

After rising, he drew the curtain across the space where the bed was, separating it from the rest of the one-room cabin. It wasn’t big, and he was able to retrieve the clothes he and Isabel shed in a rush the night before with ease. He carried his boots so not to wake her and placed them outside the front door. 

Since adopting the cabin as their personal hideout since Hamish’s passing, Isabel stocked up on supplies. Tinned food, salted meats of game she hunted, vegetables, fruit, some herbs and berries for medicinal tonics… She made the cabin quite a home for them in the short time they had to use it. 

Arthur raided the cupboards, wincing every time his foot found a squeaky floorboard. When his satchel was stocked with everything he thought he might need, he started for the door. As he rose the latch, Isabel’s voice caught him.

“You leavin’ like a thief in the night?” he turned to the sound of her voice. She was wrapped in the blanket, her hair tousled and her lips slightly bruised from the previous night. She rubbed one bare leg against the other, not realising how desirable she looked. “Was it that bad?” She huffed a laugh after her question, but Arthur sensed her anxiety.

“No,” he crossed towards her and slipped his hands around her jaw, “no. It weren’t bad.” He kissed her forehead. “It was…” His stomach clenched and he squeezed his eyes closed. It was so much harder to leave now she was awake. “It was perfect.” He slid his hands down and rubbed her upper arms. “You was…  _is_  perfect.”

Isabel smiled, but the sadness she was fighting to conceal broke through, cracking the facade she tried to present. She wrapped her arms around him, blanket and all, and buried her face in Arthur’s chest. As he returned the embrace, he realised she was shaking. 

“Don’t go.”

“Sweetheart…” Arthur sighed. He nestled his cheek in her hair. The tightness n his chest was worse now, like his ribs were digging into his lungs. “I have to.”

“Arthur, please,” she looked up at him, “I got this…  _awful_  pit in my stomach. I’m… I’m scared… Feels like if you walk out that door I ain’t never gonna see you again.”

“That ain’t gonna happen.”

“Let me come with you–”

“No–”

“I can–”

“Isabel.  _No_.” 

Her words trailed off and she sniffled, tears that she was holding back began to trickle down her face. Arthur quickly brushed them away. He smiled faintly, watching Isabel rub her cheeks with the palm of her right hand. 

“I can’t go an’ do this if you’re there. I can’t be worryin’ about you, when I’m gonna be worryin’ about gettin’ John, Abigail, and little Jack out safe.” Threading his fingers through her hair, Arthur sighed, “y’understand?”

“I do… I just…”

He kissed her forehead again, “I know, sweetheart.”

Isabel gripped his jacket, “you jus’ come back alive, okay?” She bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering, her chin creasing with the effort it was taking her to hold back more tears. “I ain’t gonna be best pleased if you die.”

“Ain’t nothing in this world that’ll keep me from you,” Arthur hugged her, hiding his face in her hair while Isabel clung on to his jacket. “I promise.”

They stood, embraced and silent for a while. Arthur tried to memorize the texture of Isabel’s skin under his rough hands, the smell of her hair, and the way her body molded into his. Small things. Intimate things to keep him sane. 

“You wait for me here, okay?” Arthur said, looking Isabel in the face. 

She nodded, “okay.”

“If anythin’ happens I told Mrs Adler t’come and get you. So be ready, just in case.”

Another nod, “I will.”

“Good woman.”

“I love you, Arthur Morgan.” Isabel said, colour rising to her face. 

Arthur cupped her face in one hand, resting his thumb by the corner of her mouth, “I know.” He kissed her, hard, but brief knowing if his resolve to go and face his fate would wain the longer he remained. Isabel’s fingers tightened in his clothing, her naked body pressed close to him.

When he stepped away it was like a thread that connected them grew taut, trying to keep them bound together, and then  _snapped_  when the distance grew too vast. There was nothing left to say.  _Goodbye_  was too final. Too…  _sad_. Arthur couldn’t bring himself to say it. 

Isabel watched him put his boots on, and was at the door when he mounted his horse. With each step away from the cabin, away from  _her_ , the weight of dread and fear in his stomach grew heavier, and heavier. 

Neither of them might have said it, but that kiss was a kiss  _goodbye_. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur Accepts His Fate, Following The Confrontation with Dutch, The Pinkertons, and Micah.
> 
> -THIS IS FIX-IT FIC-

_It’s finally over._

All the lies. All the killing. All the pain… it’s done. Finished. 

Every breath was agony. Arthur could hear the pronounced wheeze, how it rattled around his body. His voice was raw, shredded from the running and the violent coughing fits. The taste of blood lingered in his mouth and he could just about hear the sound of gunfire moving further and further away. 

The Pinkertons… going after Dutch? Or Micah? Not John he hoped.  _Prayed -_  for the first time in perhaps his whole life, he found himself  _praying_  to whatever God existed that John would get away and get out of this life. That he would be safe, reunited with Abigail and Jack and be able to  _begin_  his life.

It was strange to think that this would be it. He would die here on the side of this rocky hill. In less than an hour, the scavengers would find his corpse and he would be a meal for the coyotes and vultures. If that was the case, at least he was good for something in the end. 

Sun started to peek up over the distant mountains. Thin threads of gold, orange and pink bleeding into inky blackness. 

He regretted so much, and there had not been enough to time fix  _everything_. He wished he’d seen through Dutch sooner. Seen through the lies and manipulation. Seen the real man Dutch was, and not the man Dutch pretended to be. He regretted the loss of so many good people to Dutch’s schemes and greed. Jenny, the Callender boys, Sean, Lenny, Hosea… God, he regretted Hosea’s death most of all. Regretted not spending more time with him. Not ever letting him know how much he valued him as a friend and father figure. 

Had Hosea known what deep admiration Arthur held for him? He hoped so. 

Dwelling on the regret wouldn’t change anything now. Hosea and the others were resting. They were at peace and soon Arthur hoped to join them. To welcome at soothing numbness and give in to it’s enticing embrace. 

He had thought he would fear this… the inevitability. That when the time came, he would be afraid of what lay beyond when he closed his eyes for the final time, and when his heart ceased to beat. There was no fear though. There was something else. Acceptance? 

He accepted that this was the end for him. This was going to be it. He lived a bad life. Did terrible things. But he tried… in the end, he did. 

Had he succeeded in making up for past transgressions? Arthur doubted it. He would need two lifetimes to make up for all the pain and misery he caused. But he tried, and  _that_  mattered.

And he had touched other lives. Met and loved good people, too. Hosea. Tilly and Mary-Beth. Susan Grimshaw, the stern mother figure to everyone who deserved a more peaceful end than the one she got. Mrs Adler, a braver woman he had never known, nor one quite so ferocious. Reliable and noble Charles Smith. He enjoyed laughter with Karen, even thought on Uncle with fondness. He saw in Jack the son he lost. Saw in what John and Abigail had the life he could have had, once. 

He had loved. Not once, but twice. 

Mary. That first blush of love. That young  _true_  love that never went away, no matter how much time passed or what happened between them. That love was always there. He hoped she would be happy. That she would find a new life and a husband who could give her everything Arthur could not. 

Isabel. His new love. A love that barely got a chance to bloom into what it truly could have been. He loved her in a way that could never compare to the way he loved Mary. Isabel was a match to him. A piece to him he never knew was missing. She helped him see he could be more than what he was. Helped him realise the truth of who he could be. That he was more than what Dutch would have had him be. 

He imagined her back at the cabin. Hunting, tidying, making it a home for them… A home he would never see. He prayed she would not hate him for not coming back to her. Prayed she would forgive him for dying. She must have known he didn’t want to. 

His eyes were growing heavy. The threads of sunrise were more beams now, forcing the night sky to recede. The beams shone over Arthur’s face. They warmed him. It was still a sensation is broken body could recognize. He did his best… he knew that, and he could die well, knowing he at least  _tried_. That was enough for him. He could close his eyes and rest now. He could welcome the embrace of silence and rest…

* * *

The texture beneath his hands was soft. Not spring grass soft, but soft material. Cotton, or linen? That Arthur could  _feel_  anything at all was a surprise. The last thing he remembered was the sun rising, the warmth on his face. He remembered closing his eyes and waiting for oblivion or utopia, whichever he would find.

Now, he was confused. 

The material under his hands. He could move his toes, and his fingers, and his chest was clearer than it had been for months. He could breathe without pain… There was still a wheeze, but breathing came easier now. He sharpened his other senses before daring to open his eyes. 

Smell. He could smell herbs. Ginseng and yarrow, and something else he couldn’t place. And he could smell steam. And logs. Logs burning on a fire.

Fire! He could hear the crackling of one not far away. The song of a bird somewhere never sounded quite as beautiful as it did at that moment. He wasn’t alone, either. Under the sound of the logs and the birdsong was movement. Feet. Booted feet scuffing the ground. 

Arthur began to open his eyes, afraid to do so. Afraid that if he did, all the familiar sounds and smells would disappear and he would be faced with a fiery pit. 

The world around him remained in tact. He stared up at a log cabin ceiling. Beside him was a small table, with a pestle and mortar on it. That was where the smell of herbs was coming from. The fabric around him was a blanket. Soft and warm and familiar…

This didn’t make sense. Where was he? Why was he still alive?  _How_  was he still alive?!

Arthur tried to sit up, but his body refused to obey his commands. He groaned when his chest tightened, and he began to cough. Arthur quickly covered his mouth determined to catch any blood as he sputtered. The wheeze was there, but less pronounced. No blood stained his tongue or his hand when he moved it away. There was nothing.

Distracted by his coughing, Arthur did not notice another body join him until he opened his eyes when the fit subsided. Sitting on the edge of the bed was a woman he recognized, but was puzzled to see.

“… Am I dead?” asked Arthur, his voice rasping from lack of use.

“Not yet.” Isabel replied with a small smile. “Though you certainly came close.” She came towards him and assisted him in sitting up. She positioned some pillows behind him to support his back. “You didn’t  _seriously_  think I’d let you go off alone, did you?”

Arthur opened and closed his mouth several times, willing words to come out, but unable to find them. Isabel reached down to the floor and retrieved a plain metal cup and a jug of water. After pouring a drink, she mixed in some of whatever was in the pestle and handed it to Arthur. 

“Drink up, it’ll help.” 

Arthur did as she said. The water was warm, and the herbs only added a hint of flavor as he downed the cup in a few gulps. His throat felt better for it, but it did little to quell his confusion.

“I don’t understand.”

“I gave you half a day head start.” Isabel explained, holding the jug between her hands. “I went up to Beaver Hollow. I hid out, waitin’ for you to return with the others. When the Pinkertons arrived, I stayed hid…” She looked down at the floor, “I heard everythin’ in that confrontation with Dutch and Micah. I never liked Micah, but to think he’d rat to Milton…”

“I don’t wanna think about that.”

Isabel leaned forward and curled Arthur’s hair behind his ear, before cradling his cheek in the palm of her hand. Arthur barely contained a gasp to feel her  _physically_. He was sure this was just a fantasy as he died, a lie, conjured by his mind. He gripped her hand. She was real. Physical and real and  _there_  in front of him. 

“I saw you escapin’ with John. Saw you tryin’ to hold of the Pinkertons… Saw Micah. The exchange with him, an’ Dutch.” Her voice hitched, and Arthur could hear a quiver in her breathing. “I wanted to step in, I did. But–”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Mustering what little strength he had, Arthur moved as close to Isabel as he could and nuzzled her forehead. “I wouldda never forgiven m’self if somethin’ happened t’you.”

“I ain’t never lettin’ you outta my sight again, Mr Morgan.” The smile he heard in Isabel’s voice was enough, but he saw the relief the one on her lips contained. “I met Charles up at Beaver Hollow after… everything. He helped me get you back here to Hamish’s cabin. An’ Rains Fall gave me some herbs and tonics t’help with your tuberculosis. It ain’t a cure, but he said it’ll help the cough and slow the symptoms. We’ll need t’get you somewhere warm and dry to really try an’ fight it, but… it’s a start.”

“A damn miracle.” Arthur chuffed. 

“Was touch an’ go for a while there,” Isabel retreated from him, sitting straight. “You been out for a week or more. I been feedin’ you broth. Talkin’ to you… I was worried you wasn’t going to wake up.”

“I didn’t…” Arthur stopped. “It don’t matter now. I am awake. An’ alive.”

“Yeah,” Isabel nodded, “you is.” 

They looked at each other from across the small distance between them. The spark that had always been there crackled, and Arthur wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and express how grateful he was with words and actions. He was too weak to move though, he knew that. Too weak and bruised to do much more than sit. 

“You got a lot of healin’ t’do now.” Isabel informed him. “I’ll be on you like a rash if you try an’ push yourself, Arthur Morgan.” She got to her feet and ran her fingers back through his hair, “it’ll take time. First thing we’ll do when you’re strong enough is get you bathed… and do somethin’ about that beard.”

“What am I meant t’do in the mean time?” asked Arthur, kissing the heel of Isabel’s hand before she was too far away from him. 

With a small knowing smile, and without answering him, Isabel went from the bedroom area of the cabin and around the corner. Arthur waited a few moments until she returned. She carried a leather bound book in her hands, pens, and pencils. 

“You didn’t have your satchel on you when I found you.” Isabel said, handing the items to Arthur. “So, I asked Charles to get a new journal and some things for you, on my behalf.”

Arthur flicked through the blank pages of the book. They were crisp white, pristine, and perfect. Not a mark, or a blemish. Not a single imperfection. 

“Thought it might be nice for you t’have a fresh start.”

Putting the journal down in his lap, Arthur nodded his head smiling a little up at Isabel. “Yeah. That sounds good.”


End file.
